Ever After
by GrearBeloved
Summary: A narrative speculation on how Rumbelle and Storybrooke might develop in OUAT season 2. Between reality and magic, good and evil, storybrooke and fairyland - is there still room for a happy ending? Rumbelle focused, but all other characters included
1. False Start

Time had lost meaning long ago for the girl trapped in darkness and despair. One small square of shifting light was the only evidence of its passing.

This day seemed as if it was trying to recover the lost joys and sorrows of all those wasted years in an instant. In a single day, her freedom, memory, and love had been restored. And now, standing in his shadow with the mist pouring out around them, she was watching all of that drown just as suddenly.

For a moment her thoughts were in such turmoil that she couldn't put two words together. Then, as the pieces clicked together and realization dawned, she didn't dare voice her fears – that might make them real.

His touch was gentle on her arm, his hands warm as they grasped hers. It seemed strange that such a light touch would belong to her beast. He had touched her so little before, it was a feeling unfamiliar and unexpected. Her heart tried to jump, but was too weighed down by the heavy burden of yet another break on his account.

The haze solidified enough for her to realize that he had been saying her name for some time. She had grown quite adept at letting time pass without notice, it would obviously take some practice to react to the present again.

She drew her eyes toward his face, concern etched into every facet of his expression. Yes, her behavior must be worrysome. It would be easy to believe a face like that, easy to think that his worry came from love. That face was a lie.

Drawing in a single shaky breath, she at last tested her voice, which came out quieter than she would like, but also steadier. This voice was also a lie. It was all the strength she had left to sound calm.

"You've done it again."

The confusion flickered across his face as he asked the obvious question. "What do you mean?"

She drew her hands slowly out of his grasp and begins taking small steps backwards, shoes slipping on unseen obstacles. He took limping steps forward, treating her like a frightened animal, trying not to startle but not to let her escape.

She chose her words carefully. For all the havoc inside her, it turned out to be a simple thing to communicate, almost obvious.

"Your power…means more to you….than me."

He shook his head, opened his mouth to deny it but she couldn't listen. "_Please, please no more, Rumplestiltskin. I have nothing more. I have nothing to give you. I gave up my home, family, friends. Even my books are closed. My memory lost, my mind broken. The living dust that was my heart is cast along each line of your face. Don't ask me for anything else. "_

Her white shoes skidded through the brush, leaves and rocks that lined the forest floor. Her legs were stiff and unwieldy from disuse, and she fell time and again, scraping her knees and the palms of her hands. Heartbeat thudding against her ribs, her strength gave out before she reached the edge of the trees. Her body was weak from years spent in a small, dark world of grey. All her substance had ebbed away long ago. The hearty, brave girl who had seen adventure in danger and opportunity in fear was whittled into the small frail thing folded in on itself in the dirt. No running, no fighting, just hiding like a little coward.

Yes, hiding. Once again she had to remind herself to be aware of the present. She listened carefully, but the forest was still after the storm Rumplestiltskin…no…his name was different here…it was Mr. Gold who had unleashed it.

She heard his voice far off, calling for her. So it would be different from last time. As the seconds had turned to minutes, hours, days and weeks she had hoped he would come after her, in vain. Now when she was desperate for escape, he pursued her. Crawling to the nearest tree as quietly as possible, she tried to pinpoint his location from the sound so as to shield herself from sight when he finally arrived.

Necessity positioned her facing the setting sun. The light burned and offended her eyes. It should be raining and dark. It was unfair that the world should carry on in its beauty when her heart was in such disarray. Forced to shut her eyes, pulse pounding in her ears, she remembered the doctor's advice. It was an exercise meant to calm her thoughts, to distract her from the delusions and keep her grip on reality.

"_1…My name is Rose…2…I am twenty years old…3…I have trouble with my memory…4…Not everything I remember is real…"_

She had recited the list so many times the words barely had meaning anymore, just a string of familiar sounds that helped to calm her. But this time she allowed her thoughts to linger on the fourth statement.

Was this…another delusion? It had been a long time since she'd had one of this intensity. It seemed real to the marrow of her bones. But wasn't it far-fetched? That she was a character from a fairytale? And even if she was, didn't fairy tales have happy endings? Could this kind of pain really be the product of her imagination?

And if she was deluded, why would Mr. Gold encourage her? Why take her into his arms? Why did his face have such unfathomable joy and pain when she had walked into his shop?

It was a stretch, but it was a preferable alternative. Maybe there was still a chance for a new story, one where she got to stay whole.

A cricket's loud chirp startled her to open her eyes. She had allowed time to shift again, swift and formless as water. Darkness was all around her. And she had no idea where she was.

She stood on legs sore from the exertion of the day, back stiff from maintaining one position for so long. Alert once more, she listened. Sound had returned to the forest: crickets, night birds, wind, leaves and water all joined the nighttime symphony, but there was no sound of pursuit.

They had journeyed uphill to reach the well, so it would seem that downhill was the most logical route. It turned out to be also the most difficult. The shade of the trees made the night ever darker, and each fall left her hands and knees more and more ragged. With the retreat of the sun the cold began to creep in, seeping through her jacket and thin hospital gown. Shivering, she made her way toward the sound of the water. There was more light here as the water reflected the moon, and a clearer though muddy path on the shore. She stumbled less often, and when she did fall the cold dampness of the banks dulled the sting.

It occurred to her that she had been walking far longer to get out than they had walked on the way in, but since she didn't know any other way to go and backtracking would be impossible, she continued on her journey. Besides, she didn't really know her destination, only that she was trying to get of the woods. Her teeth started to chatter as the temperature continued to plummet; her nose, fingers, and bare legs grew numb. The trees became endless black walls, showing no break through which she might escape.

At last she spotted it in the distance – a bridge. A bridge meant a road. A road meant people, and heat. This was her only thought as she increased her pace. As she reached it she noted a sign, hoping it would give her some indication of where she was, but it read only "Toll Bridge" in black and white, with a red "r" comically scribbled in as the second letter.

She began to scramble up the banks, only to find that her last challenge was one she could not overcome. With her extremities numb, the steep banks were an effective trap. Each effort was thwarted by loose rocks and mud slides. She could have backtracked to see if there was an easier path, but the weariness, weakness and despair were enough to discourage her. _"And besides,"_ she thought glumly _"They'll only put me back in the cell."_

With that she allowed herself to collapse at last, pulling her jacket closely around her in a vain attempt to block out some of the cold. She wondered if it was cold enough for her to freeze, but that thought frightened her back into her counting routine.

This time, it was a flash of light that broke through her eyelids. Bone-tired, it was an effort to crack her eyes to identify the source of the intrusion.

"Oh my god! I hate this bridge! Ruby, call an ambulance!"

She could hear women's voices but could only make out vague shapes. They didn't sound familiar. She felt something heavy draped around her shoulders.

"Can you hear me? Are you ok?" a woman's voice spoke urgently, commandingly. Something seemed special about this voice, but she banished the thought before it brought on another delusion. The face this voice belonged to came into focus, a pretty face. Angular jaw, full lips, black lashes framing blue eyes bright with purpose and intellect. Her wavy blond hair fell to the waist of her red leather jacket and spilled over her shoulders as she knelt.

"We're here to help you, but I need you to talk to us. Can you do that? Can you tell me your name?"

She tried twice to answer, but air came out without sound. The third time her voice managed to creak out between her lips. "I-I'm not sure."

The woman did not react. "That's ok. Do you know where you are?"

"No."

"Do you know how you got here?"

"I walked. I got lost. It was dark."

"Are you hurt?"

"Nothing that you can fix," she whispered. When the blond woman's eyebrows drew together in confusion and concern, she cleared her throat and corrected, "Nothing that can't be fixed." She held her hands out for evidence.

"I'm Emma Swann, I'm the Sheriff. I'm going to try and get you out of here. Do you think you can stand if I help you?"

She nodded as her arm was draped across the blond woman's shoulders. Leaning heavily, she managed to get back to her feet. Ascending the bank was still a struggle, and Emma had to all but carry her to accomplish it. Still, many minutes later they found themselves on the bridge, just as the ambulance pulled up.

She dug her nails into Emma's arm. "Please…please don't let them take me."

Emma put covered her hand with her own. "It's ok, they're here to help you. You've been out in the cold for hours alone. You need medical attention."

"No doctors. Don't let them take me back!"

The ambulance stopped and men in white suits jumped out of the back. Emma watched her with increasing concern, and she felt the panic welling up. The men headed straight for her and she started backing away, knowing she couldn't run far but that she couldn't go back in that hole. She looked at Emma pleadingly.

"Please help me! Stop them!"

Emma looked conflicted and confused, but it was obvious that the sheriff would be of no help. As she turned to run one of the men caught her arm and began dragging her toward the gurney. The buckles on the restraints glinted in the moonlight. At last she was unable to contain her terror, and she let loose a blood curdling shriek.

Suddenly, the man's hand was gone from her wrist, and another arm wrapped tightly around her waist. She struggled with her new, unseen assailant until she heard him growl, "Don't touch her!"

Without further reasoning, she collapsed into him with relief, twisting her fingers in the lapel of his jacket.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? You're the one that sent us out to find her!" Emma bellowed back. Rose looked over her shoulder to see the man who had grabbed her on the ground, clutching his head as blood ran over his fingers. Mr. Gold had one arm wrapped securely around her, and in the other he brandished his cane as though it was a sword. Emma had a gun drawn and pointed.

"Sheriff Swann, your services are no longer needed."

"Oh like that's going to work. She's suffering from exposure and she needs to go to a hospital. You just assaulted a medic and have taken a hostage so I strongly suggest you let her go. Otherwise I'll have to arrest you all over again and I promise you, I'll make sure the charges stick this time."

"I think you've forgotten one important point, Sheriff. You owe me a favor. And I'm calling it."

"No...way."

"I'm afraid you can't wriggle out of the deal now dearie. This girl is going to be delivered into my custody - permanently. These men will leave, and no charges will be filed."

"I am not going to let you hurt that girl." Emma set her jaw in grim determination.

His voice was dangerously low when he answered. "I would never, ever do anything like what you're suggesting. There is as much chance of me bringing harm to this girl as your bringing harm to Henry. And I will show no mercy to the person that tries to take her from me – a fact I intend to prove in the very near future. If you thought I was dangerous before, Sheriff, let me advise you: you haven't seen anything yet."

Emma took a step forward and Mr. Gold tensed in preparation, but both were halted by her urgent voice, slowly descending from hysteria. "I want to go with him. I don't want to go to the hospital. He won't hurt me. He'll protect me. There's no need to argue. Please, Sheriff, you'll let me go won't you?" Emma's blue eyes were like ice as she studied her, considering.

"You swear you won't hurt her? If she wants to go you'll let her?"

Setting his cane back on the ground, he bowed his head lightly. "You have my word."

"Fine. But you make sure she gets taken care of. And Mr. Gold – our business is done. No more favors."

With one last glance at the girl quivering in his arms, she turned on her heel and walked away.

No sooner had the sheriff turned than Mr. Gold gave his full attention to the girl in his arms. "We've got to get you someplace warm."

Emma's back stiffened for a moment, but then she kept walking.

"Will you come with me?" His eyes tensed lightly as he waited for her answer. Rose could only nod weakly. With the adrenaline of her fear waning, she felt her limit closing in.

They turned from the audience behind them, and Mr. Gold helped her to the black car not far off. Once inside with the heat blasting, he turned his attention to her battered hands. Without looking up, he began to speak softly, his lilting accent like a lullaby.

"There's something you don't understand. About the magic. Many things actually, but this one is the most pressing." His fingers glided over her scrapes, purple light illuminating her torn flesh briefly as he sealed it, leaving no mark. The relief was instant, and she sagged in her seat. Exhaustion threatened to take over, and as much as she wanted to stay awake, her eyelids began to sag. As consciousness faded, she caught one last sentence before sinking completely.

"I need my power to protect you."


	2. Handling the Truth

It was so warm. The kind of warm like fresh clothes dried in sunlight, like a glowing hearth in winter. Soft, comforting. It had been so long since she'd felt the cozy touch of this type of heat, she thought she had forgotten all about it. Though she fought to keep her grasp on sleep, the sound of birds chirping outside and the smell of food began luring her back to consciousness.

Her stomach growled violently, and Belle tried to remember the last time she had eaten. Breakfast at the hospital, yesterday morning. As her thoughts became clearer, the events of the previous day unfolded in her memory. If it was indeed a delusion, she was apparently still in it.

She opened her eyes a slit and cautiously took in her surroundings. She was in a large bed, wrapped in silky gold sheets and a burgundy blanket, also embroidered with gold. There was a window framed with stained glass through which sunlight poured in an array of colors, hinting that the day was nearing its peak. The floors were dark, sturdy wood, and the shelves lining with walls were filled with mismatched trinkets – some appearing delicate and expensive, others clunky and worthless.

"_It's not so different from the dark castle,"_ she thought, finding humor and at least some comfort in his familiar quirks.

The low rumble sounded again, and she reluctantly sat up. The rest had improved her resolve somewhat, and it had been a long time since she had felt the excitement of curiosity. If it was a delusion, she might as well make the most of it.

Drawing back the sheets, she was surprised to find the filthy jacket and hospital gown gone, replaced by a set of soft flannel pajamas and wool socks. They hung in soft, baggy folds off her narrow frame, designed entirely for comfort rather than appearance. She tried to remember changing into these but found nothing. Surely he hadn't….no, he wouldn't have. He'd have used magic. She refused to question that point further.

She slid off the bed and though the scrapes on her hands and knees were vanished, she found that her legs were terribly stiff and sore from her long journey the day before. Rocking slowly back and forth from her heels to the balls of her feet, she managed to stretch out some of the kinks in her calves.

Her door opened silently, and she padded a few tentative steps down the hall. There was an open door on her left, and she was pleased to discover a clean, shiny bathroom. She stepped inside and closed the door as quietly as she could. On the sink counter was a toothbrush still in its package, an unopened tube of toothpaste, a square hair brush with ties wound around the handle, a small glass, a wash cloth and a bar of soap. Fresh towels hung on the back of the door. She caught her reflection in the mirror and did a double take in alarm. Her face and hands were caked in dirt, hair a violent snarl reaching out in every direction.

"Nothing else for it," she sighed heavily as rolled her sleeves up and put the tools to use. She would of course need a shower, but didn't have the patience just at present. Besides, the running water would alert him to her awakeness, and she wanted time to prepare before confronting him again.

After nearly thirty minutes of effort, she managed to get her hair back in order, pulled into a low ponytail at the base of her neck. Her face, hands, and neck were scrubbed pink, shining clean. She'd brushed her teeth vigorously twice, until nothing but the taste of mint was left in her mouth. She filled the glass three times with water, finding herself suddenly parched. Nearly filling it a fourth time, she decided against it. It was quite possible that she was dehydrated, and she didn't want to make herself sick…well, sicker.

At long last she nodded her satisfaction and continued down the hall. Reaching the top of the stairs, she stopped to listen. The uneven footsteps were easy to pick out, and sounds of sizzling and running water drifted out of the kitchen along with the heady smells of food being prepared. Her stomach seized again, becoming less patient. When was the last time she had eaten something other than hospital food? Trying to reach past the long expanse in the grey cell threatened a panic, so she abandoned the thought.

Her legs complained as she made her way down the stairs, but it was manageable. The entire place was solidly built, no creaks or groans to give away her progress.

Rose peeked around the entryway and spotted him. In an instant, her breath caught with a thousand memories. His face was so human now, but still so like the man she had grown to love; the same angle of his jaw, the same lines furrowing his brow as he concentrated. It washed over her unexpectedly – the eternity she had spent missing his face, his presence. Her caution forgotten, she rushed toward him, needing to assure herself that he was real, here.

His face was full of surprise as she knocked him off balance, and he stumbled a few steps backwards, steadying himself with his cane.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, but he shook his head and smiled, pulling her close against him.

"I wasn't sure what to expect. This I don't mind. It helps me believe that you're real."

She drew back to look into his face, traitor tears stinging her eyes. "You…you don't have to say that. I know I'm not like I used to be and…and you didn't want me back. I don't need anything from you. I'm just happy to see you, anyway. Happy to see you well."

His hard laugh caught her off guard. "Do I seem well to you?" She only responded with a questioning look, to which he smiled more genuinely. "I suppose I am much more well today." He gestured to a chair at the small breakfast table, "You must be hungry. Let me get some food in you, then we can talk about anything you like."

"Anything?" she tried to keep the doubt out of her voice.

He put a hand to his chest, "Anything."

It seemed ludicrous that she should be sidetracked by something so casual as hunger, but her stomach grumbled again as a reminder. She nodded her assent and took a seat.

Mr. Gold started placing dishes in front of her, starting with a bowl of fruit. Once the first piece hit her tongue, her appetite awakened in earnest, and it was quiet affair as she plowed single-mindedly through first the fruit, then the eggs, bacon, and pancakes. He patiently refilled her orange juice as she drained the small cup again and again. Finally, feeling uncomfortably tight with food, she slowed when she reached the lemon muffin, picking around the edges rather than swallowing it whole.

"You cook now?"

He grinned teasingly, "Yes well, good help is so hard to find these days. Would you like anything else? Coffee or tea perhaps?"

"Oh no. Nothing else thank you. But maybe I'll try some coffee another time. What is it?"

His face fell, and he gripped his cane tighter. This had apparently been an odd question. "Sorry. Don't mind me. Just a bit sheltered I suppose."

His voice took on a timid, gentle quality, one that she didn't like. "Belle," he stopped a moment, correcting himself and testing out her new name like a strange food, "Rose, where have you been?"

"Please don't do that."

"What?"

"Treat me carefully. Like something's wrong with me, like I'm so fragile. Can't you just be as you always were?"

"When?"

She cocked her head to one side, taken off guard by the question. "When we were at dark castle. After I stopped being afraid. Before you-," she cut herself off and cast an apologetic look at him.

He steeled his jaw. "You can say it. It's the truth. Before I turned you away. But Rose, how long ago was that?"

"How should I know? There was no way for me to track time. It could have been a month or a hundred years to me."

"It was thirty years."

Her breath hitched and she shook her head. "I…I don't understand."

"You see, you are fragile. There's so much you don't know yet. Please let me be careful with you, at least for a little while. You were going to tell me where you have been."

Rose tried to force air back into her lungs. Thirty years….thirty years? Not possible...her reflection, wasn't it the same? Her thoughts skidded back to the doctor's instructions. She was supposed to keep control. _"1…My name is Rose…or was it? 2…I am twenty years old…but that can't be…3…I have trouble with my memory…4…Not everything I remember is real…" _Nothing matched up in her head. Something here wasn't real, but what?

Her hands were being drawn away from her face. She hadn't realized she'd hid behind them. Mr. Gold was kneeling in front of her, trying to get her attention. It was difficult to pull her thoughts back out, but she tried for him. The food felt like a stone in her stomach, one that would require dislodging. Drawing in deep breaths, she tried to answer his question.

"I'm sick. I've been sick for a long time. It's my mind. I can't always tell what's real, so I shouldn't believe everything I think. That's why I was in the hospital. In the asylum. I tried so hard to remember what was real, what they told me. I did try. But I never got any better."

His eyes grew wide and glistening, but his jaw betrayed a rising fury beneath the surface. "That's the story she wrote for you? That was how she kept you from me?"

"She?"

"Regina! Her majesty!" He rose, pounding a fist on the table. Belle jumped and leaned back in her chair.

Clenching his hands into fists, he turned from her and leaned on the counter, trying to regain his composure. "I'm sorry. I'm all right. You don't have to be afraid." He lingered there a few more moments and then rejoined her at the table, a practiced but tenuous calm on his face.

"I thought I would get to choose what we talked about. That was the deal, right?"

A ghost of a smile played across his lips. "It was. How could I forget?"

She tried to keep her voice light, not to let the even a hint of her desperation for the answer leak out. She failed. "Rumplestiltskin...Mr. Gold…where have _you _been?"

His eyebrows knit together in a pained expression. "Yes. I suppose you deserve the answer to that."

She waited as patiently as she could while he chose his words. "It was several months after you had gone. I assumed you'd returned home to a glad welcome, that even perhaps your thoughts of me were beginning to wane. Eventually you'd find another suitor, one that would be less….challenging?"

She smiled despite herself at his choice of words. In many ways he was a challenge. But falling in love with him had been easy…effortless, once she knew him.

"I had intended to leave you alone, when the Queen herself paid me a visit," his voice grew hard at the memory, "and told me that you had not been received quite so well as I had imagined."

Rose winced at the memory. She had been just as surprised as anyone to find her home turned hostile, her heroism rewarded with suspicion and fear. As she tried to mend the bridges, thinking time would put things back to right, her efforts were only rewarded with further callousness. Things went from bad to worse, and even her father joined the ranks of the doubtful and cautious.

"So that much is true, I see. Good. One less regret."

She puzzled over his meaning, but he carried on before she could question him. "Regina also told me of your death."

"My death?"

"This was clearly some manner of exaggeration."

"How was I said to have died?"

His jaw quivered lightly, remembering the words, however false, that had effectively shattered his existence all those years ago. The words that had shackled him to shame, regret, and heartbreak for year after year, decade after decade.

"You threw yourself from a tower. Your people had put you there for purification…from me…and you…" he trailed off, and Rose grabbed his hand across the table.

"I didn't. My father told everyone that to prevent a panic. I escaped."

"Escaped? Then the tower…the clerics…that was true as well?"

Rose's eyes stayed cool on his face, but she didn't answer. His face started to crack around the edges, but this time it was not his temper that threatened to overtake.

At that moment pounding erupted at the front door, making Rose jump and Mr. Gold sigh in annoyance. "Gold! I know you're in there and I'm not leaving until I see her!"

He closed his eyes for a moment and then smiled in mock politeness. "Excuse me a moment won't you dear?"

Rose smiled back at him, grateful for the interruption. He stood and made his way to the door. The pounding erupted again before he made it there, and she heard another, smaller voice outside, seemingly trying to shush the intruder.

"Sheriff Swann, what a surprise." He said with no surprise whatsoever in his voice. "What can I do for you?"

"I read the book, deal or no deal I'm here to make sure that girl is all right and isn't being held against her will."

"I'm afraid she's indisposed at the moment. It's a shame, if I'd known we had visitors I would have given her some warning. Perhaps you'll try back another time?"

"Look just because everyone has their memory back doesn't mean I can't arrest you."

"Emma!" the little voice chimed in, "Please, you don't want to have Mr. Gold as your enemy."

"You've got a smart boy there, Sheriff. Perhaps you should start listening to him."

Rose had slowly made her way closer to the door, rolling her eyes at Mr. Gold's stubbornness. "I'm here, Sheriff."

"You don't have to come out here in your nightclothes. It's a free country and this is private property." His voice was cool, unrattled – his business voice.

"It's all right. And it's a simple fix for all this unpleasantness." She grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it wider. Of course she remembered Emma from the previous evening, but the darkness had clearly hidden her striking beauty, and the sunlight caught in her hair set it in pale flame. All the sudden she felt a touch self-conscious in her flannel and socks.

"Good morning, Sheriff Swann. I'm glad you stopped by, I was hoping to have a chance to thank you for finding me."

"You're Belle, aren't you?" Her attention was distracted by the young boy standing behind Emma. His face held a look a rapt excitement as he peered around the woman that was obviously his mother.

Unsure herself of the answer, she was only able to offer, "I suppose so, but I haven't been told your name."

"It's Henry, and it's good to meet you."

"How are you feeling?" Emma's question was not at all casual.

"Much better today. I fear I slept in quite late, so I hope you'll pardon my attire. We just finished a big breakfast, but there are some muffins left and I'd be happy to put the kettle on if you'd like to come in."

Emma and Mr. Gold made the exact same incredulous expression, and it made Rose blush with embarrassment. Apparently she'd done something strange again. "Are we not friends?"

Henry's face was lit up however, and he answered before anyone else had a chance to speak. "We'd love to thank you!"

"Henry!" Emma half barked, half whined back at him.

"Please? For operation cobra?" As her resolve visibly melted, it seemed the tough cop mother was defenseless when it came to her son.

Emma and Mr. Gold exchanged a frosty glare before she turned her attention back to Rose, forcing her mouth into a tight smile. "Sounds good. Thanks."

Rose blushed brightly again as she hurried into the kitchen. She was opening cupboards furiously looking for tea when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Let me. Have a seat." She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or not – keeping her hands busy helped her relax – but she took her seat back at the table nevertheless. Emma leaned against the far counter, her posture tense as though she was ready to take flight at any moment. Henry obliviously plopped down in the vacant dining chair.

"So what's your name here? Do you prefer Belle?"

So much for starting with easy questions. Henry was apparently determined to crash her two realities together like cymbals.

"I think…it's Rose here…but you can call me whatever you like."

"Do you have any enemies?"

"Um..well…"

"Henry maybe you should start with something less personal? She had a very rough night last night and I'm sure she'd like a little more time to relax before you give her the third degree." Emma tried to assist.

"Oh sorry. It's just that I've had so many questions, but no one remembered the answers."

"Henry," Mr. Gold started evenly as he filled the tea kettle, "You do know that not all of us are friends, here or in our old land?"

"Of course. You all hate the queen."

Mr. Gold smiled at Henry's candor. "Perhaps, but she's not the only villain in Storybrooke. Has your mother told you who I am?"

"Yes. Rumplestiltskin. The fact that I couldn't figure it out should have made it obvious."

"And does it change how you feel about me?"

"I know you can be dangerous, but not if I don't make any deal with you. Everyone else made deals, but didn't want to pay your price. That's when you're dangerous. "

"Clever boy. Now here's the thing," he placed the remaining muffins on the table, "I was saying not everyone gets along, least of all with me. You're very good at keeping secrets aren't you?"

"I've had to be."

"Well then, I would also advise you that not everyone here will recognize everyone else. You should be very careful about revealing our true identities to the rest of Storybrooke. And careful of who gets to see the book."

"No offense, Mr. Gold, but I'm pretty sure everyone here will remember who you are. You kind of leave an impression."

Emma and Rose exchanged a stifled smile at Henry's precociousness. Mr. Gold maintained his serious expression. "Yes, but they don't know Belle."

Henry looked confused. "But…she's one of the good guys, and that story didn't even have a villain. Unless you count Gaston, but he's already dead right?"

Rose's eyes grew wide. "Gaston…he's dead?"

Henry bit his bottom lip. Mr. Gold's voice was flat. "He's missing from Storybrooke, just like he was missing before. So it is possible. But he was never a real threat." Rose took a deep breath. Yes, he had been missing, though not necessarily missed.

"Here's the thing, Henry. You know that I have enemies."

Henry nodded seriously his understanding as he studied Rose's face across the table. "And if they know she's your friend, they might use her against you. Don't worry, we won't tell anyone. We won't do anything to put you in danger."

Mr. Gold smiled genuinely at him. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

"Wait a second!" Henry jumped out of his chair, "Are _you_ the Beast?"


	3. Old Memories

Belle…or Rose for safety's sake…liked Henry. He had his mother's directness, but tempered with a charming sense of curiosity. She wasn't sure how to feel about his awe of her alter ago – she certainly didn't feel like something spectacular – but his enthusiasm was uplifting. Emma was more difficult to read. She didn't seem like the type to be won over easily. So far Rose had managed to stay off her bad side, but had no way to engage whether they made any particular progress toward being friendly.

The dynamic between Emma and Rumplestil….Mr. Gold…was far more colored. From what she could tell, Mr. Gold seemed to respect Emma, though that offered her no particular favors. Emma didn't trust him as far as she could throw him, but it remained to be seen whether she actually disliked him or just wanted to.

It was still amazing, the difference between the beast people feared and the man she knew him to be. How could they miss him, lurking under the threats and bravado? Yet when Belle first came to dark castle all those years ago, she had tried and failed miserably to hide her terror of her new master. Jumping at the smallest shifts in his demeanor, afraid at what might be lurking behind every closed door, waiting for the monster to show himself worthy of his reputation. While he couldn't be described as kind – in fact he seemed to take great pleasure in her discomfort – he had not been cruel either. He never struck her, or used his dark magic on her. Though her tasks may have been beneath a princess, they were never terrible. His needs were ironically common; food, drink, a warm fire, a clean home, fresh straw...

It hadn't been her fear that had drawn her, but finally her boredom. After a few weeks sleeping on a stone floor and being trapped alone indoors with only her thoughts for company, she'd found that just the presence of another person could be a consolation. It took her some time to realize she preferred him to be home, spinning at the wheel or pouring over his books. The sound of the doors opening after his absence sent her scurrying to take his things – not out of fear of rebuke, but in excitement to have someone else again, anyone else.

It was on one of these occasions when she first summoned the courage to speak. As she took his cloak and parcels, she blurted out without thinking, "Where have you been this time?"

He gave her a suspicious look and leaned back, studying her face disapprovingly, "When did that become business of yours?"

She tried to reign in her words, but after such long restraint they tumbled out over each other in a helpless torrent. "Of course it's not, I didn't mean to pry. Only, you must not have gone far since you took so little with you. And it does seem strange that you never take a horse, even when the storms come in. Though I've never been a strong rider either and I prefer the exercise, so perhaps it's not so strange. In the end I suppose you can do whatever you like. Do you have anything to add to the collection? There are still some spaces open in the east wing upstairs, though it depends entirely on what you brought. Couldn't be anything too large though or I'd have noticed it by now. When you bring back something new, does that mean you went someplace you've never been before? Or do you always go to the same places? If it were me, I'd –," Rumplestiltskin snapped his fingers close to her ear, cutting her off. His face was completely confounded at her sudden outburst.

"Tea, Belle." He commanded simply, and she had blushed to the tips of her ears. "Of course. Right away."

She hurried to the kitchen, cursing her stupidity. Would she be punished? It was unbecoming of a servant to take such liberties, especially with the dark one himself. What had she been thinking? Distractedly, she loaded the tray with teapot, cups, cream and lemon muffins. She generally left a kettle on the hearth, since there was never any telling of when he would arrive and tea was always wanted first thing. She chose a cinnamon plum tea to compliment the cold weather. At first she had tried making different morsels each day, like at home. That was one of the charms of tea time, wondering what would be served and being surprised each day. However Rumplestiltskin appeared to be quite particular. Most of the things she'd made were returned untouched or half eaten. Only the lemon muffins were ever finished off, so she had given in and begun to include them with every day's menu. After all he travelled so much and slept so little, it was more important that he ate something than for her to test her culinary abilities.

When she returned to the dining hall to serve him, she was trying to hide the fact that her hands were shaking. All she needed now was to break something and she was sure to catch the wrong side of his temper. He eyed her warily as she put the tray before him and filled the cup. She pretended not to notice and refused to make eye contact.

Once she had finished, he pointed to the chair at the far end of the table. "Sit." He emphasized the "t" in such a way that left no question of refusal. She obediently took her place. "You must be quite miserable here to seek entertainment from me."

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me." She started to launch into a more lengthy plea for mercy when he pulled an item from under the table and placed it squarely in her view.

"My new trinket." She twisted her hands in her lap, unsure of where he was leading. "Well then, you want to know where I've been. Let's see if you can guess."

A small ship floated on an undulating sea, sails billowing in an invisible breeze. The entire scene took place inside a glass bottle no larger than a loaf of bread.

Rumplestiltskin seemed content to wait for her answer. She felt it was in her best interests to make a good guess. "May I have a closer look?" He batted his hand absently at the air, and the bottle slid smoothly across the length of the table, resting in front of her. Though his magic never ceased to startle her, she'd tried to maintain her composure and examine the ship. The tiny carving was incredibly detailed: the railings seemed to be worn smooth, the ropes damp with spray. But it was the woman's figure carved on the bow that gave it away.

She smiled in satisfaction despite herself. "You've been to Portsmouth."

"Very good." He rewarded her.

"It's quite a likeness of The Siren's Bane."

"You know the ship. You must have spent some time there yourself."

"Oh no. We were discouraged from travelling. Especially to the port towns. They have a reputation for being a bit raucous. No place for a princess," she sighed wistfully, "but I read about it once. They had an illustration of this ship. The woman is quite striking."

"Then it may interest you to learn that it's not a likeness. It is the original."

Her eyes popped. "But…how?"

"The same way I do everything dearie. Magic." He grinned, pleased with himself.

"You stole the flagship of the Meridian fleet?"

"I didn't steal it. They gave it to me. It was my price."

"But that ship is over a hundred years old. It's how they've controlled the eastern waters – it was enchanted by the water king!"

Rumplestiltskin nodded enthusiastically, "Precisely. And it's the only ship that can summon the merfolk to a parlay. I've got a feeling it will come in handy."

"What could you possibly have done for the King of Meridia to make him part with such a thing?"

He considered a moment. "You know, dearie. It's astounding the price people will pay for just a little magic," he leaned forward conspiratorially, "when they're desperate."

She took the bottle in her hands delicately, letting her eyes pour over the legendary vessel, trapped and belittled in its tiny cell.

"Does this mean you'll be taking a voyage?"

His smile was somewhat menacing, as if he was weighing responses, trying to choose the least palatable. "Hoping are we? I have no designs on sea-faring." He tapped his forehead with two fingers, eyes glittering. "But someone else does, and they'll be wanting my help."

Belle debated whether to press on with the conversation. Wasn't it dangerous to do so? How badly did she really need the answers to her questions? Rumplestiltskin was clearly amused by her fear…but so far the conversation had bordered on cordial, despite the topic.

She tested her boundaries. "So…you really can see the future?" He only smiled back at her. "Is it something that you can look at whenever you want to or…something that just comes to you from time to time?"

Rumplestiltskin had cocked his head to one side. "What does that matter?"

"I suppose it doesn't. It would just be the difference between an ability and a condition."

"Explain yourself."

His smile had vanished and that made her nervous. "Well, I…I read a story once."

"You seem to do a great deal of reading."

"Yes, I like to read. Especially since we moved to the castle, after father became King."

"You found royalty a thing that needed escaping?"

She knew the circumstances were inexcusable, but she couldn't stop the sides of her mouth from turning up at his unintended irony. "It's been my experience that all castles are cages."

Rumplestiltskin stared at her, expressionless, but her nerves heightened the humor and it was all she could do to choke back a laugh. He invited her to continue, his voice holding the sheerest hint of uncertainty, "You read a story?"

She cleared her throat, trying to regain herself. "Yes. It was a story about a girl named Cassandra. She could see the future, but she had no control over when she would see it or what she saw. She always saw great tragedy, and attempts to prevent it only escalated the peril. For her, seeing the future was a great curse."

"Sounds very dramatic."

"So it's not that way for you, then?" He shook his head and took a sip of tea. She considered a moment, "Have you seen anything about my future?"

His smile returned, again with its menacing quality. "Of course I have. Haven't you?"

Her eyes grew wide, wondering whether she would want to know what he saw. He watched as she twisted her fingers, allowing his pause to have maximum effect. "You are here. Forever. As we agreed."

Belle pressed her lips together as tightly as she could, but in the end she couldn't help but laugh at his deception. She supposed he meant to be frightening, a reminder of her endless captivity. The circumstances made it funny instead - her waiting with baited breath for some great revelation, as though she was visiting a fortune teller instead of serving the dark one.

Rumplestiltskin lowered his eyes in an expression near frustration before he relaxed his features and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. She giggled all the way to the kitchen.

That was the first time she'd thought maybe this ordeal wouldn't be so bad.

Emma and Henry had not stayed terribly long. Out of long lost habit, Rose had gone to wash dishes and tidy up the kitchen once they left, but Mr. Gold had stopped her and insisted that she behave like a guest. He had meant it considerately, but she didn't like the choice of words. "Guest" implied temporary.

She had accidentally taken a nap after the noon-time breakfast. Her days had been so empty for so long that even a little excitement had sent her crashing to the couch pillows. Now that she was trying desperately to hold onto time it kept slipping away from her. Once she woke she decided it might be charitable to treat herself to a bath.

Mr. Gold seemed content to let her wander about the house at her leisure, but something about his manner was keyed up. Something was on his mind, to be sure, but he remained reserved. Memories crashed through her head every time she looked at him, but admittedly it was somewhat of a challenge to align her fantastical imp to the demure gentlemen in a black suit.

Rose found new clothes folded neatly on the end of her bed. These were also utilitarian – a pair of jeans, a white camisole, a blue button up sweater. Removing her towel, she caught a glimpse of her body in the standing mirror in the corner. Having spent the afternoon remembering her other self, she noticed for the first time how striking her transformation really was. Her face was hollow, dark circles ringing her dull blue eyes despite all the sleep. Lips dry, cracked, and colorless. Bones rose sharply under her skin, creating a ridged landscape that looked painful and fully emphasized her thinness. Her hair, once a vibrant auburn, now hung in limp rusty strands framing her neck. She had never thought of herself as vain about her beauty, but remembering the person she used to be brought tears unbidden to her eyes.

Scrubbing at her cheeks and swallowing fiercely, she put the clothes on, only to find that they were too large and looked frumpy on her slight frame. The jeans threatened to slip off her hips, but there was no belt with the ensemble. After further inspection, she saw a ball of twine on one of the shelves and some scissors. She cut three lengths and ran them through the belt loops, tying them in front. Not the most fetching accessory but at least she felt more secure.

Looking in the mirror again, she noted that the brief crying had at least restored a little color to her face. One piece of hair swung down in front of her eyes, and she tucked it back behind her ear. As she watched, she noticed her reflection in the mirror seemed to move in just a tiny delay, but knowing her propensity for augmenting reality she shook the thought out of her head.

With a sigh, she made her way back down the stairs. Mr. Gold was leaned back in one of the parlor chairs, cane held regally out before him. His eyes locked with hers and he offered a tight smile, which she returned tentatively.

"Would you care to sit?" How differently he framed the request now than in her earlier reverie.

"I'm not sure. Is it still my turn to choose the subject?"

He smiled more warmly. "I'd have trouble denying you anything today."

"Do you think I'm crazy?" His smile faded, and he looked at her seriously. "No. I think you've been injured."

Not quite the answer she'd wanted, but hopefully this meant he wouldn't be treating her the way they did at the hospital – the false gentleness, the practiced calm. She hadn't quite decided what she thought herself, but she was glad for the moment that he hadn't written her off.

"Is that why you're waiting?"

"Waiting for what?"

"To tell me whatever it is that's making you so anxious."

"Still perceptive I see. It's been some time since I've had people try to figure me out. I suppose I could use a little more practice in masks." He gestured to the chair across from him, but she sat on the end of the sofa closest to him. It was a familiar dance, him positioning himself inside an open space, her thoughtlessly crowding in. "Yes that's part of the reason, but not all of it. Honesty has never really been the best color in me. And there's still so much you need to know."

"I'm aware, but I do have some priorities."

"Of course."

"Will you answer anything?

"I will try, but I'd advise you to be careful with your questions."

"Do you think you've changed? I mean inside. If it's really been so many years…do you think we still know each other?"

He extended a hand cautiously to cover hers. "I'm afraid I don't have the answer to that question. You'll need to judge for yourself. But whatever we might not know, I'd like to take the time to find out. Because whether I've changed or not, I don't feel any differently."

"And how do you feel?"

He smiled in a teasing way, "I believe I've told you that already."

She pulled her hand away from him with a sigh. "Look at me, Mr. Gold," she gestured to her ill-fitting clothes, her sickly pallor. "Is this what you remember, what you missed? Is this what you loved or are you just chasing a memory?"

Mr. Gold slid out of the chair and dropped to one knee in front of her. Putting one hand to her chin to force her to meet his eyes he offered intensely, "Absolutely yes. Did you think I would love you less when you're hurt or frightened? Do you think I love you more in an exquisite gown than a belt made of twine? I have spent every day of the last thirty years fulfilling your prophecy of regret. And now when I finally have you back, what accessory could possibly distract me from my joy?"

"Your magic." His mouth pressed into a hard line, unable to refute. She sighed as she put one hand to the side of his face, tracing his hairline. "I so briefly had the thing I most dearly wanted: the man under the magic. A man to whom I could be an equal, with whom I could share everything. I was in your arms for only a moment before you turned back."

He leaned on his cane and stood. "You don't see how much more I can give you with magic, how much more I want to give."

"You don't think you have anything to offer without it, but all the best, most wonderful parts of you – all the things that are real have nothing to do with magic."

"Then what do you want me to do, Belle? Find another way to get rid of it? Leave us at the mercy of her majesty and just hope that we'll somehow be left in peace? That you won't be locked away again?"

"Do you really think you have control over these things?"

His eyes glinted dangerously, "Don't underestimate me. You alone might have the power to bend me to your will, but almost everything that's happened here has been according to my plan."

"Really? You planned to get yourself and everybody else cursed to a land without magic for all these years?" She'd meant the question to point out his obvious lack of involvement, but he didn't respond, only watched her coolly. Breath catching in her chest, she continued, "You planned this?" Again, he didn't answer, and her mind began to race as it all came together. "This is your curse."

"I didn't put it into effect, but yes, I made it. And sold it to the person who I knew would use it. I think it would be unfair to continue without you knowing that."

So this was it, the thing that weighed on his mind. All of this was his doing. He continued, "It is because of me that you've spent all this time locked away, me that caused the hitch in your mind. Without me none of this would ever have been possible. But Belle, I swear I didn't know. I never thought you'd be caught up in it."

Overwhelmed to the point of numbness, she pressed herself to continue. "Why? Why would you do this to everyone? To yourself?"

Mr. Gold's deep brown eyes were perhaps the most unfamiliar part of him – the dark, unnatural silver replaced by golden brown. Yet they pleaded with her for understanding.

"Because it was the only way to find my son."


	4. The Deal

There was far more to tell of Mr. Gold's son than he had once led her to believe. It was the story of everything he had been, was, and hoped to be. It was the missing piece. She had discovered what he was, and who, all on her own. Baelfire – or Bae, as Mr. Gold affectionately referred to him – was the how, and why behind the dark one.

Rose wasn't sure how she fit into this puzzle. She was the odd, unintended piece on the board, the single note offkey in a delicate melody. What if Bae couldn't be found? There was no trace of him in the twenty eight years since the curse was enacted. Would Gold then carry his dark burden forever? Suppose Gold did find his son…would his need of her wane? Would Bae be willing to share his father after such separation? With such unique and extreme circumstances, was it beyond reason to hope for a family?

Still unsure of how she felt and how to cope with so much change in such short time, Rose was keenly aware of the fact that she had no one and nothing other than Mr. Gold. It was unsettling. If Bae were to return, she would hope to offer more than this present ghost that haunted his father. She had to find a way to be well – as if she didn't have enough reasons before. But how could she gain her balance when every time she tried to stand another wave came crashing down on her?

Mr. Gold was being deliberately gentle with her. He hadn't used his magic beyond perhaps conjuring clothing, hadn't asked her for anything, had barely touched her at all. Rose disliked his restraint, but was also grateful for it. His stillness and calm gave her at least one sturdy thing to anchor on.

Tossing in the sheets, Rose tried to remember his face when she'd walked into his shop, a scant two days ago. At the time his reaction made no sense, but in retrospect, she tried to believe what she had seen there. Unable to maintain the distance between them, he had pulled her to him and whispered through tears, "I'll protect you." She needed that to be true, but wasn't sure if she could trust it, trust him.

Squinting her eyes tight and begging sleep to pull her under for just a little while longer, Rose's thoughts shuddered to a stop when she heard the noise. It was just a light thump, could be a branch outside or a loose pipe in the walls, but something about made her wary. Drawing in a breath and holding it, she listened again. Just as she was about to scold herself for once more distorting reality, there was a soft squeak and then the sound of a window sliding open.

Frozen in the dark, adrenaline coursing through an already fragile system, Rose had no idea what to do. She heard the light thud of shoes connecting with the floor, and felt instantly that she was no longer alone. Wanting instead to burrow under the covers and pray not to be discovered, she summoned her courage and sat up slowly, eyes searching the shadows.

"Who's there? What do you want?" She tried to sound defiant, brave. Villains preferred to prey on victims, so she could not afford to sound as small and afraid as she felt.

"Is it done?" a man's voice whispered, and chills ran up her spine.

Taking a deep breath, she twisted her hands in the blankets, forbidding them to shake. "I don't know what you mean."

"She's missing, so he has to have her. He'd never be able to resist. Is she here? Is she still alive?"

Still alive…her blood ran cold in her veins. "Who are you talking about? Is someone in trouble?"

The silhouette of a man strode toward her suddenly and she resisted the urge to scream. Instead she tried to get away, to get off the bed and run. Unfortunately her earlier unrest had left her legs hopelessly tangled in the sheets and she fell off the bed in a heap.

Two hands hoisted her up with a frightening amount of strength, and she was brought nose to nose with her assailant. He towered over her, his body tense with energy. "You told him didn't you? It was Regina who locked you up, right?"

Recognition clicked into place, but it didn't lessen her fear. The panic was welling up inside her like a dam about to break, and she fought to keep her grip. "Let me go."

He started to shake her, "Why won't you answer me? Did he kill her or not? I have to-,"

All at once his voice choked off and he released her. She leapt across the bed, trying to put something between them. Grabbing blindly at the shelves, she managed to get hold of some kind of metal object. It wasn't very heavy, but it was something. Turning and raising it in as threatening a manner as she could muster, she quickly realized there was no need.

The strange man who had both freed and attacked her was nearly a foot off the floor, red-faced and sputtering as he thrashed his legs and clawed at horrific scars on his neck. Mr. Gold stood in front of him, one tight fist held aloft, glowing softly purple.

Gold's face contorted with rage, his voice came out a snarl, "To answer your question, murder was not on today's agenda. However, since your request is so urgent, I can make a special exception."

The man choked harder and the veins in his face and throat rose painfully to the surface of his skin.

Rose's stomach dropped as she wondered whether he would suffocate or if his head would just simply explode from the pressure. Dropping her momentary weapon, which disappointingly turned out to be a watering can, she cried out, "Stop! Mr. Gold, stop!"

With great effort he managed to turn his head ever so slightly in her direction. When his eyes met hers, they were a familiar shade of dark silver. The corner of his mouth turned up, a snake's smile. "I'm sorry dear. I don't think I can."

Short quick breaths drove in and out of her lungs without control. "He s-saved me."

"Things looked a little different from over here." The man's eyes rolled back in his head and the jerking of his body grew weaker.

With her breath coming short and shallow, it was hard to make it carry sound, but she tried on desperately. "That's the man…who let me out. He freed me and…told me to find you…brought us together again."

Mr. Gold scowled up at his victim for one more moment before dropping him. The man sat, gasping and choking down air as quickly as he could, eyes watering from the violence of his coughs. Gold was without pity, jabbing him with his cane with a look of disgust. "While that may be enough redemption to keep you alive for now, it does beg the question 'why?' don't you think?"

The man on the floor tried to force a sound, but collapsed in coughing. Gold jabbed him again, no more gently than before. "Why help me? What do you get out of it?"

Rose made her way over the scene carefully, using the wall for support, legs threatening to falter with every step. Gold watched her every move, and slowly some of the menace started to fade from his face. She managed to turn the light on, and then knelt by the crumpled man on the floor. A moment ago he had terrified her, now she couldn't help but pity him. The concern gave her a little more strength to work with, a distraction from her own adrenaline. She looked over her shoulder and saw Mr. Gold's cane now planted firmly on the ground. "It's ok. Catch your breath. Would some water help?"

He managed to nod once, eyes grateful on her face. Rose braced herself to stand again, and Mr. Gold offered his hand. Allowing him to pull her to her feet, she placed one hand lightly on his chest and fixed his eyes with her own. "I'm going to get some water from the bathroom. I'll be right back."

Mr. Gold let out a small sigh and nodded once. It was the only affirmation she would receive of his cooperation. Moving as quickly as she dared, she went and filled the small glass on the sink with cold water, spilling it several times on the way back to the room. Gold still had his cane planted in front of him, staring the man down coolly, as though daring him to try something. The man on the floor was drawing in ragged breaths, but the choking sound had largely subsided.

Rose handed him the water and stood slightly in front of Mr. Gold, hoping her presence there would keep them separated. After a few sips, the man locked eyes with her and managed to rasp out, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Oh no, breaking in through a woman's window in the dead of night and shaking her out of her bed shows no intent to scare." Mr. Gold was clearly unmollified.

Rose had a slightly better handle on her own breathing, so she tested her voice out. "Who are you?"

"My name is Jefferson."

"Why did you break into my room, Jefferson?"

The man slowly sat up and leaned against the wall, wary of Gold's cane. "Regina has gone missing. I just wanted to be sure."

Mr. Gold's voice was still gravelly with anger, "Regina's missing?"

"You have her don't you? Once you found out what she'd done to you?"

"I've no idea where her majesty is, but rest assured she's on my list of loose ends that need tying. I've had other priorities." The ice in his voice brought goosebumps out across her shoulders.

Rose studied Jefferson's face in earnest. If what he was saying was true, then his seeming act of kindness in freeing her was truly an act of malice. He'd only come to her aid because he thought Mr. Gold would kill Regina. There was a certain coldness etched on his features, a still darkness lurking behind his eyes. Was he really a calculated, blood-thirsty killer? Was he someone she should fear?

Whatever his reasons, he had set her free and sent her back to the one person she had hoped most to see. She couldn't prevent herself from feeling some gratitude for that.

"See something you like?" Jefferson quipped as she stared.

There it was, caught in his tone of sarcasm. Chiding her now could only end in further punishment from Mr. Gold, who hissed in reply, barely able to hold himself in check. Hopelessness. Nothing mattered to Jefferson. Perhaps cold-blooded now, all his dramatics only served to highlight the intensity of his pain.

Ignoring the barb, she pressed him, "What did she do to you?" Jefferson's jaw locked tight, unwilling to answer. "Regina is the Evil Queen, right? She cast the curse to take away happiness. She must have taken something very precious from you if you'd go to these extremes. Maybe we can help you get it back."

Jefferson's eyes grew wide and he looked up in alarm to Mr. Gold, "She knows?"

Mr. Gold remained cool. "Of course she does. Everyone does."

Jefferson was suddenly on his feet, and just as quickly Rose found herself yanked behind a coiled Mr. Gold, poised to strike. Jefferson seemed oblivious to the display.

"The purple mist…that's what it did?"

"Hardly. It was true love's kiss that woke everyone up. Where have you been that you wouldn't know that?"

All at once Jefferson eyes spilled over and he seemed as though he was no longer aware of them. "My daughter…my Grace…I'm so sorry…I didn't want this for you."

The tension slowly leaked out of Mr. Gold's shoulders. "Your daughter is here in Storybrooke?"

"My little girl. She never did anything to deserve this, any of it! And now worse than living a lie, she'll be just like me," he pointed fiercely to his own chest like he was giving a death sentence, "like her!" he pointed just as convictingly at Rose. "We're all mad here!"

Despite his theatrics, Mr. Gold was now calm. "And if that's true, then the girl will be needing her father. Her real father. Who she will now remember."

"I'm not the same man she remembers. I wanted a new story." Jefferson's voice broke pitifully.

"So does every person who ever lives. You've got to make the best of the one you've got. Tragedy, you'll find, is often accompanied by opportunity."

Jefferson scrubbed his cheeks, trying to steady himself. "And what about evil?"

"If you want something done that badly you should see about doing it yourself. But if you must know, I can see a reckoning in the future of our good Mayor. She can run and hide to her heart's content, but you of all people should know that all magic comes with a price. She's used an awful lot of magic, don't you think?"

Jefferson offered a small, conspiratorial smile, but Mr. Gold continued, taking slow steps toward him, "In the meantime, hatter, I'll be deciding how you fit into my priorities. So I'd suggest, for your daughter's sake, that you keep your distance."

Nodding his understanding, Jefferson gestured to the door – apparently hoping he wouldn't have to leave the same way he came. Mr. Gold put his hand before him in mock cordiality, "After you."

Jefferson drew a deep breath and turned to go, but when he did Rose noticed the tremors in his hands. She quickly surveyed the shelves on the wall, spotting something that would do.

"Wait…just a minute." Taking the small stuffed rabbit from the shelves, she straightened it's waistcoat before handing it to Jefferson. "For your daughter."

His face was pained and bewildered as he took the toy gently. "Thank you, Belle," he whispered, adding hesitantly "I hope you get better."

She caught his meaning, and replied sincerely, "I hope we both do."

With that, Jefferson was gone. They heard his footsteps down the stairs and then the sound of the front door closing behind him.

"Are you all right? Are you hurt at all?"

Rose turned back to Mr. Gold, all his fury replaced entirely with concern. "I'm not hurt."

"Are you frightened?"

"A little, but I'll be all right."

"Of him? Or me?"

She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm not frightened of you. I'm frightened for you."

"How do you mean?"

She took a seat on the edge of her bed, hugging her knees "I don't know if I can explain. You see things differently."

Mr. Gold took a seat beside her, his face patient. "Try."

Rose fumbled through her mind for the right words, a way to put things that he might understand. Suddenly, it occurred to her. "Mr. Gold, would you make a deal with me?"

The corners of his mouth turned down, suspicious. "What kind of deal?"

"You've said you need your power to find Baelfire, and to protect me."

"Yes."

"Is that all?"

"That's all I've ever used it for."

"You didn't have to hurt Jefferson to protect me. You could have simply stopped him, froze him in place, locked him up."

Mr. Gold's eyes glinted dangerously, fisting clenching in remembered rage, "He was hurting you. It was all I could do not to tear him to shreds on the spot."

"Why didn't you, then?"

He cocked his head to one side, caught off guard by the question. "I didn't want you to see that. You are already so wary of me…I don't want to drive you away."

His answer was authentic, and despite everything else it made her smile. She leaned over, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. "Thank you."

Slowly and carefully he draped an arm around her shoulders. "I've done nothing worth thanks. I make a poor knight in shining armor. I shielded this room from every type of magic imaginable and forgot to check the bloody window locks. And I can't seem to protect you without scaring you to death."

Tilting her head to look up at his face, she could see the conflict and frustration plainly. "Would it help at all…if I told you that love is new to me too?"

The most honest smile her had offered her yet broke out on his face like dawn, and her chest tightened in response. It was this particular smile that had made her realize for the first time, in that distant time and place, how handsome the beast really was. Heat rose from deep inside to light her cheeks, and set her skin tingling. She was unused to his closeness, the weight of his arm on her shoulders, the warmth of his side, the faded scent of his cologne and under that, the man himself. Seeing that smile up close set off a thousand tiny sparks inside, as though she was suddenly filled with stardust.

She hadn't realized it but she was holding her breath. The warmth of his gaze began to smolder on her face, to wander like a trail of lightening toward her mouth. Instinctively, she leaned in closer to him.

Chuckling briefly as he broke their gaze, Mr. Gold planted a tender kiss on her brow. "Quite the negotiator, aren't you?"

Releasing the breath she'd been holding, she returned the gesture by touching her lips lightly to his cheek. "Almost."

Still smiling, he pressed on, "Then tell me dear…what is it you want from me?"

She studied his face seriously, wondering how he would take her request. "I want you to promise that you will only use your magic to help, not to hurt."

His smile faded, "I don't know that I can promise that. This is a dangerous place, every bit as much so as where we came from."

"I'm not saying that you can't hurt people. I wish you wouldn't, but if the Queen will go so far as to take children away from their parents, to drive people mad to keep them from happiness…I don't know what it will take to stop her. All I'm asking is that you don't use magic to do it."

"Why does it make such a difference? Whether you use magic or a sword, a person is no less wounded."

"It doesn't change what happens to them, it changes what happens to you. I've seen your magic enough now to notice the pattern. When you use your magic to heal, to protect, to enchant – you are the one controlling it. But when you use it to hurt, to frighten…or perhaps to kill…you have no control at all. The magic erases you…and it breaks my heart."

Sighing, he ran his fingers through her hair as he considered. "So I am free to do whatever harm I think necessary, so long as I don't use magic to do it? That's your deal?"

Nodding hopefully and secretly enjoying the affection, she answered, "Name your price."

"How could I possibly ask for anything from you?"

"Are you saying I have nothing to offer?"

He laughed again, "You have such a curious method of extortion."

"Well?"

"Let me think, little devil," he scolded. Twisting the handle of his cane, he took a few moments to consider.

His face held a challenge, a dare when he turned back to her. She schooled her features to remain unfazed. "Let's just say…you'll owe me a favor?"

She put one hand over her heart, "Deal."


	5. Fool's Gold

Belle's love affair with the golden dress had been brief. When the dress box had first arrived at her father's palace, she had marveled at the fabric wonder inside. The material was silken, the color striking – as though candlelight had been woven throughout. It made her pale skin shine like moonlight in comparison, gave her moderate fairness an otherworldly element.

When the servants had finally let her see the finished product, she could scarcely recognize her reflection. In all the years they'd lived here as royalty, it was the first time she'd felt like a princess. For a moment her heart soared, but fell just as suddenly when she realized the hard truth: this gown was not for her. Its design was entirely for the benefit of Gaston.

Gaston the brave, Gaston the valiant, Gaston the handsome, Gaston the strong. She supposed the castle talk was meant to heighten her anticipation, but in truth she was tired of the name before she had ever put a face to it. Tired of hearing the litany of merits her new suitor would bring with him, and eager to find some kind of flaw to counteract the wide-eyed worship.

That part was far easier than she had been led to believe. At the dinners and dances Gaston had been articulate enough but poised to the point of predictability. He was painfully serious and never smiled. The only real enthusiasm he showed was when sharing tales from the battlefront, and his mind was all strategy, probability, and outcome. He had the uncanny ability to tell the story of a thousand men without ever actually mentioning a single name.

Belle had been embarrassed at the obvious extremes afforded by the palace staff to trap them alone together. Gaston had been a willing enough accomplice, though in the beginning it was hard for her to imagine what he liked about her. When their conversation wasn't punctuated by awkward silence, he had a peculiar way of interacting that made her feel very silly; as though he could see right through her pretense at finery and see the gangly little peasant girl playing at being a princess. It was in the way he gently corrected her pronunciation on those few words that still had a commoner's lilt. Or when he would stop himself mid-explanation, suggesting that he was boring her when really he thought she couldn't keep up. Or when he politely told her that her fiction stories were an excellent outlet for young ladies, who were by necessity, tragically, excluded from so much of life's true experience.

The stolen kisses were the worst. His hard mouth had been her first, with no hint of tenderness. It was as though he was issuing a challenge, either for her to refuse or to withstand him. Ultimately, she had discovered that her participation was largely optional: it was enough for her to be present and withstand the bruised lips until he was satisfied. There was no breathlessness, no possession of her person. In fact, once Gaston had been there a few weeks she'd grown rather adept at letting her mind wander.

Feeling alternately aggravated at her enforced compliance and ashamed of her increasingly callous disregard, she had tried several times to reach out in some authentic way to Gaston. Surely this could not be the thing men fantasized about. With all the girls swooning over him in court, wasn't it cruel of her to doom them both to such an unhappy union only to please her father? Over and over it had come back to the same answer; the sweet smile, the long sigh, the fingertips tracing her jaw and throat, giving her shivers in the worst possible way, and finally the phrase "You are so beautiful."

The golden dress was exactly perfect, exactly awful for the announcement of their engagement. Belle had practiced her smile for nearly an hour before they made their appearance, swearing that she would wear that smile if it killed her: she would not cry. This was exactly what the kingdom needed in these dark times, her father told her, the wedding of the fair princess to the great hero. He'd urged her to think of all the little girls at home, distracted from the thought of their fathers at the front lines by a fairy story unfolding before their eyes. And finally, to have faith that love could grow in even the most unlikely places – how hard could it be to fall in love with such as husband as _the_ Gaston?

It was during the toasts that the news of the battle came. The ogres were advancing from the east, pressing in on the neighboring city of Avonlea – no more than two days march. The party had retreated to the fort, the lords and knights barricaded themselves in the main hall to plan their defense. Belle was the lone woman among these, included not so much for her own merit as for her imminent protection.

The hours had dragged well into the night when the news finally came – Avonlea, and with it the red guard, had fallen. There was no major force that could be summoned. The ogres would be here in little more than a day, and with them inescapable death and destruction. Belle looked the faces of the kingdoms leaders for hope, and saw instead bewilderment and resignation. The plan was no longer whether they would end, but how.

Belle felt her frustration rise. Still thinking of the little girls whose fathers were at this moment fighting for their lives, she set her face in determination and went to her father's side. If she could not give her people the fairytale they needed, she would at last spend her last moments giving them a princess who would fight to her last breath. If she couldn't give them hope, she could at least leave them with courage.

"He could be on his way right now, papa."

They had sent for him weeks ago, this mysterious Rumplestiltskin. It was not without misgivings – their kingdom was small and the war had exhausted most of their wealth. Of greater concern was the reputation of the creature himself, a malevolent and vengeful spirit, unspeakably powerful, unspeakably merciless. His motivations were unclear in his deals, but it seemed he fed on misery, loss, pain and regret. After much deliberation, they had decided that since there was no option to avoid tragedy, it was better to live than to die. So they had sent for him and waited, only to find their fears unfounded. The missive was met with no response.

The king met her gaze with unmasked despair. "It's too late my girl. It's just….too late." Belle had never seen her papa so utterly defeated, and her mind raced in finding some way to deny what was quickly becoming inevitable. Just then, there was a pounding at the door to the hall, a pounding that would soon reverberate through her entire being and change her path forever.

The only thing Belle had brought with her from her old life was the gold gown, but it was scarcely recognizable now. She was sure it was intended for a specialized cleaning regimen and a delicate life, but like her it had suffered a very different fate. It was also her only clothing. They spent the days together, immersed upstairs in dust and cobwebs, the cellar in mud and mold, the kitchen in flames and foodstuff, and always fine sheen left behind by generous use of elbow grease. To top it off, the nights were spent rolling straw and dirt.

Thankfully her upbringing was such that she was hardly rattled by hard work and filth. Her father was third cousin to the previous king, and they had never been acquainted with the royals or their royal life. They had mourned with the other commoners when both princes were killed in battle. When the old king had died, they were as surprised as anyone to discover that they were the next of kin. Belle was a skinny fourteen-year-old when they moved from the stone cottage on the forest's edge, their small field and pasture, the well-worn paths under the trees, the chickens and sad old work pony.

Like this time she had been able to take very little with her, but there were a few treasures she'd insisted on. Her small satchel was hastily filled with all that was left of her mother: three well worn volumes that Belle knew by heart (owning bound books was a rarity in her village), and the blue dress that had been reserved for the harvest festival and exceedingly special occasions. The last time it had been worn was two years ago, at the celebration of those children who had completed primary studies which included rudimentary reading, writing, arithmetic, history. Studies were conducted during the winter months, the school that served her village and four others surrounding was twelve miles away. Children who had no means of daily travel would stay nights in vacant barns and cellars. Belle had been grateful that her family had a work pony.

Many parents in the village allowed their children to forego the school, but Belle's mother had always insisted. By the time Belle graduated at twelve, her mother had been sick for several months. The blue dress sagged on her rapidly narrowing frame, an extra pin in the back kept the sleeves on her shoulders. But it had made Belle feel so proud, that her mother thought so highly of the accomplishment as to bestow her highest honor. It was the last time she would ever wear it – she died the following winter.

Now her mother's things were back at the palace. While she missed the comfort of having her treasures near, she was glad that her father would have them. In the meantime, her gold dress was becoming a hazard.

Belle did her best to clean herself and the dress every few days – either when Rumplestitskin was out on business or spinning at the wheel. It was pock marked with tears and loose threads, the vibrant golden color was faded and splotchy where it wasn't downright stained. Her stitchwork had always left something to be desired, and the patching she applied looked more like scars than fixes.

Worst of all, it was becoming increasingly unwieldy. The gown was made for dancing and finery – it was difficult to lean and bend and stretch the way she needed to. The wide skirt and petticoats caught on practically everything, and she found herself flat on her back or smack on hands and knees at least three times a day. The shoes she'd given up on for safety's sake. Not the most graceful under the best circumstances, the pinpoint heels and rigid material were designed specifically to destroy ankles. Once Belle got where she was going she kicked them off for the duration of the task, unless of course her master was about.

This particular day Rumplestiltskin happened to be home, not in one of his better moods. Something seemed to have him perturbed, and he sat at the wheel, spinning obsessively. Belle's time was consumed with supplying fresh straw and hot tea.

Belle had just armed him with a fresh pot and a lemon muffin. Turning to head back to the kitchen, her skirt snagged on the treadle of the spinning wheel. The world slowed down as she tripped, stumbled, and ultimately came crashing down, pulling with her the wheel and the tea service. The hot tea instantly soaked through her dress and scalded her legs. As she grabbed at the fabric trying to hold it away from her skin, something sharp on the wheel sliced the palm of her hand. Her frenzy to free herself from the debacle was ended with an angry shout from Rumplestiltskin.

"Confounded girl!"

The spinning wheel went flying off and across the room, followed closely by the tea service. Belle started stuttering out an apology, sure that this time she'd finally found a way to rouse the sleeping dragon. Yanked to her feet abruptly, she braced herself to be struck or thrown or maybe turned into a slug. Taking a step back, he conjured a purple sphere in his left hand and lobbed it toward her. Squeezing her eyes and turning her face, she waited to see what effect the magic would take.

A second ticked by, then two, and slowly the sting of her burns started to ebb. Opening her eyes a tiny crack, she used her hands to confirm that her shape was unchanged. Quickly she realized that both the burns and the cut on her hands were vanishing, but otherwise she was completely unscathed.

Catching the thunderous expression on Rumplestiltskin's face, she wasn't sure whether she could relax just yet.

"How long exactly are you planning on wearing that dress? I'm morbidly curious which one of you will survive longer."

Unsure of how to answer, she stared back at him, confused. "You're not a princess anymore, dearie, its high time you got over that notion."

He started pacing back and forth in front of her, scrutinizing her apparel. "More importantly, you make a very poor caretaker when you can't take two steps without collateral damage."

For some reason Belle felt a pang of self-consciousness, but it was buried so deeply under such a barrage of fear and confusion that she scarcely acknowledged it. "I…I didn't bring anything else with me."

"Have you heard of a little thing called 'asking'?"

Her answer was honest and to her, obvious. "No. It wasn't part of the deal."

His gaze fixed on her a moment with an unreadable expression, but then he continued flippantly. "This situation calls for some decisiveness. Since we obviously can't depend on you for that particular virtue, I'm afraid it's left to me. Consider royalty officially ended."

Taking a solid stance, Rumplestiltskin crossed wrists and extended the first two fingers on both hands. Instantly, Belle's sight was obstructed by a plume of violet smoke. It was a strange smoke, odorless and impervious to any attempts at waving it away. A slug it was, she was sure.

The misty cocoon vanished as suddenly as it appeared, and Belle looked down cautiously to survey the damage. To her surprise, she found herself impossibly clean. Even her fingernails were shiny. Hair was swept back from her face, silky against her neck where moments before it was a matted mess. Her skin felt almost powdery, free of dirt, oil, grease and grime. More than the clean was the comfort – she had almost forgotten what that felt like. She was free of the elaborate petticoats that accompanied the golden gown, the tight bindings and best of all, the horrid shoes. In their place was a simple bodice over a light, short-sleeved linen blouse, rigid enough to support her back and ribs without restricting movement. The skirt hung below, a breezy fabric that extended straight from her hips to mid calf rather than sweeping the floor and creating a bubble around her. The shoes had a wide, sturdy heel, the material supple enough to be flexible.

But beyond all reason, all expectation, the entire ensemble was blue. A precise, familiar shade – the exact same blue as her mother's old harvest dress.

The smile threatened to split her face in two, and she couldn't resist spinning in one quick circle to revel in the freedom and relief. Her eyes wandered up to an utterly baffled Rumplestiltskin, and she barely resisted the urge to throw her arms around his neck. Bouncing in place with excitement, she clasped her hands over her chest, "This is so wonderful! Thank you!"

"You understand this is a maid's dress?"

"Hardly! This is a dress for a real human being!" She laughed as she spun a second time, swinging her arms out around her. "I'm free, I can move!" Grabbing her skirt and pulling the fabric straight, she continued in her reveling, "It's just beautiful."

Rumplestiltskin took one step back. "What kind of princess are you?"

Her smile stayed radiant. "A very poor one, I'm afraid."

Frustration mounting behind his eyes, Rumplestiltskin continued to question her. "How can you possibly be happy about this? I've taken you from your castle and family. I've locked you in a dungeon. I've given you tasks that once belonged to your lowliest servants. And now I've taken the very last token of your previous nobility." Considering a moment, he continued, "You're not going mad already are you?"

Belle laughed, light and carefree. "Not at all. The tasks you assign me are the price I used to pay for bedtime stories, and now it buys the lives of all my people. Should I begrudge dishes in favor of ogres?"

For the first time, it appeared she'd knocked him speechless. He opened his mouth once, twice, and was not able to put a sentence together. Her fear entirely forgotten, she continued. "I expected no further kindness from you, deserved no further kindness, and now this," she swept her hands grandly across her new attire. "How can I thank you?" Taking a glance at his bewildered expression, she quickly closed the gap between them and took one of his hands in both of hers. Earnestly, urgently, she looked up into his face. "Thank you."

Rumplestiltskin snatched his hand back and waved dismissively, clearing his throat nervously. "No matter."

Belle's smile only widened at his sudden awkwardness. "I'll go and get you some more tea." She had turned to head back to the kitchen when his voice stopped her.

"You do realize that your ball gown is destroyed? It no longer even exists?"

Considering a moment, she cast back over her shoulder, "Yes, well…it never really fit me properly anyway."

Rose browsed the clothing racks, reminded again of the fact that she was practically clueless when it came to navigating this new land. She had very few memories of this place outside the old cell, and knowing those memories were false made her unwilling to explore them.

As the town reeled from the great awakening, many people kept to their routines, clinging to some sense of normalcy in their recovery effort. Nearly two weeks had gone by since all had changed, but the town continued to function. Schools and stores had reopened, but the air in the town was anticipatory. Magic had returned but not yet made an appearance. Until it did, people carried on as best they could.

After ample negotiation, Rose had accepted a small loan from Mr. Gold. He had tried insisting that it would be a gift, that she was welcome to anything. He'd even offered her a paid position in his shop. Rose was touched by the doting, but she didn't want to be a kept woman. If she was going to get better, she had to do it on her own. The first step was proving that she could take care of herself. For that, she needed an income and a job. If she was planning on spending some time out in the open, then she desperately needed some clothes. So Mr. Gold had given her a loan and at her insistence directions to the shop on main. Fairly certain that she didn't know how to drive, she was pleased to discover it was within walking distance.

Now here, she was unsure of what fashions were appropriate, what her size and color palette were, and especially discouraging were the shoes. The urge to retreat back to the safety of her protector was tempting, but she refused to leave empty handed.

Surveying the shop hopelessly, she spotted another woman holding up blouses in front of a mirror. The woman was lovely, her green dress flattering while modest. Taking a deep breath, Rose approached her.

"Excuse me…do you work here?"

The woman's friendly smile was relieving as she shook her head. "No, sorry I don't. I can help you find an attendant though, what do you need help with?"

Rose begged inwardly that she wouldn't do anything odd, nothing to reveal that she was actually an escaped mental patient whose relationship with reality was casual at best. "Well, um, I'm looking for new employment, but I'm not really very good at picking things out. I guess I just need a little help, a second opinion to make sure I don't look as silly as I feel."

The woman let out a twinkling laugh, "I know exactly what you mean. I feel like I'm shopping for a different person lately." She extended her hand, offering firmly, "I'm Snow White, Snow for short."

"It's nice to meet you, Snow. I'm Rose," she shook Snow White's hand and managed to stop herself from adding, "I think".

"It's nice to meet you too, Rose. I teach third grade. I'm not sure quite what level of professional you're looking for, but I'd be happy to help out if you'd like."

Sighing with relief, Rose smiled, "Thank you."

"It's no trouble, besides shopping is traditionally done in groups. So what kinds of things do you normally like? Do you have a favorite color maybe?"

"Blue."

Snow grabbed a blue button down off the rack and held it up to Rose's face. "Oh yes, blue is absolutely your color. See look, we're already getting started!"

About an hour later, Rose was feeling a sense of triumph, and a genuine sense of comraderie. She and Snow were laughing as they tried on the most elaborate shoes as a joke, when Snow noticed the time. "Oh Rose! I'm so sorry but I have to go, I have a lunch date. Do you think you have enough to get you started?"

"Absolutely. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. I was starting to panic when you came around."

"Aw you didn't need my help – you just needed a cheerleader."

"That's diplomatic to the point of dishonesty." Rose chided her.

"Whatever it was, it was my pleasure. I needed a little fun." Grabbing a piece of paper from her purse, Snow started scribbling down digits. "Here's my number, if there's anything else I can do to help or if you decide you need another spree, feel free to give me a call."

"I'd like that very much. Enjoy your lunch." Snow made her way to the checkout as Rose put the last of the shoes away. Once she'd gathered her things, Rose made a pass through the men's section on a whim. Realizing almost immediately that this was an exercise in overconfidence, she turned on her heel and headed back toward the register.

At the jewelry counter, something caught her eye – a set of gold cufflinks, set with a black jewel in the center. Amused by the idea of surprising Mr. Gold, and eager to return even a tiny portion of his kindness, she added them to the pile.

Back on the street with plastic bags full, she carried her head high. The progress was small, but it was still the very first step forward.

Rose had to stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the red blinking hand to complete its countdown. Closing her eyes to briefly enjoy the sun on her face combined with the relief of success, she was almost startled by a voice approaching behind her.

"Beautiful day, isn't it? It's nice to see people with the courage to be back out on the streets."

As she turned to smile at the new company, her heart stopped. Time stopped. The world stopped.

The face staring up from the wheelchair was instantly recognizable, despite the expression of shock. The angular jaw, the dark eyes, the broad shoulders – the flawlessness.

"Belle?"

Dropping her bags, Rose ran at a full sprint away from the shops, the town…and Gaston.


	6. The Tower

_Note from the Author:_

_Thank you all so much for reading and the kind reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Please feel free to hit me up with suggestions or characters you'd like to see. _

_Also, thank you for the constructive criticism. It was pointed out that the transition between Storybrooke and Fairyland was unclear. I was hoping this would communicate some of Belle's crazy, but after re-reading I realized it was just plain confusing. I've since edited the previous chapters religiously so that the names are the clues. If it says Mr. Gold/Rose we're in Storybrooke. If it says Belle/Rumplestiltskin we're in a flashback. I tried to add page breaks but it didn't work out for me. I hope this helps, let me know if it's still a bit jarring. _

_Hope you enjoy this latest installment!_

Rose ran as much of the mile and half back to Mr. Gold's house as her lungs would allow, only to find the doors locked. Calves cramped, throat stinging from gulping down the chilly air, pulse racing from fear and flight, she slumped down on the front porch to catch her breath.

Gaston. Hadn't they asked her a thousand times where he was? First it was servants whispering behind closed doors, then even worse was the family begging for answers. Finally, the scourge had raked along her back, the flames licked voraciously at her skin, but she had never been able to answer. They said he had gone searching for her and dark castle but had not returned or sent word. Where was Gaston?

He was alive, he was here. And what's more, he'd used her other name. He'd called her "Belle". What did this mean? Were there others from the kingdom here in Storybrooke? The clerics, her father? What would they think to find her living with Mr. Gold?

They would think she was crazy…possessed – just as they had before. Her record in Storybrooke showed no improvement when it came to madness and the man she loved. The real question was, would it be back to the asylum, or back to the tower? The dark pit of nothing, or the whip and fire?

A still coldness settled down on her, the calm before the storm. As her hands trembled and her teeth chattered, Rose realized that she was overwhelmed. There was no way to avoid the onslaught of panic that these particular memories brought. Gaston had been a Pandora for the chapters she'd tried most to forget, the places that she feared the most. Rose was helpless to keep control.

Belle was terrified. There had to be some way out. This had to be a bad dream. The iron restraints rubbed her wrists raw. The white tunic was made of rough material, leaving her arms and legs bare and vulnerable. The smell of the smoke, the crackle and soft glow of the smoldering fire were all sensations she'd associated with comfort. Now they filled her with such dread that she already felt a scream mounting in the back of her throat.

"_Gods,"_ she pleaded silently, _"Please give me strength. Please help me keep him safe."_

They had almost believed the truth – that she had no idea where Gaston was, that she had never seen him at dark castle. But then they had asked the question she would not answer. "Where is this dark castle?"

"I will never tell anyone that. No one who wants to hurt him."

All at once, she'd gone from a confused young woman who required coaxing to a crazed criminal in league with a demon. They believed the dark one had used magic to taint her, to confuse her mind. Magic, they argued, would only leave a body when the circumstances of remaining became unbearable.

All they needed was one moment of clarity, lucidity from her. The location of dark castle. Then it would all stop. Belle refused.

The ingots were glowing red in the flames, and Belle tasted bile in the back of her throat. Three clerics stood around it in purple robes, cloths tied around noses and mouths to give them the appearance of being faceless. Their eyes were cold and distant as they watched her – two of them, at least. One focused only on the flames.

"I'm so sorry it has come to this. I wish this magic had not come upon you, so we would not be bound to such a task. But rest assured, we will stop at nothing to free you."

Belle focused on the despondent one. "Do not let them do this. This is wrong and you don't understand." His eyes closed for a moment, but still refused to meet her gaze.

The leader pressed on, "Use your fear. Let it take you over, clear your mind of his delusions. Tell us where we can find him."

"Isn't it enough that I've come back? I'm not hurt? He never hurt me or Gaston. You have no reason to go after him."

The cleric sighed as he approached her, holding the glowing ingot in iron tongs. Belle had meant to be braver, but she couldn't stop herself from retreating as far as her restraints would allow. He held it up, allowing the glow to illuminate her face.

"You are not back. You are not unhurt. We can help you, but only as much as you are willing to help yourself. I plead with you, lady. Tell us where he is."

Knowing there was no escape, Belle squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face, clenching her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. It did nothing to help as the ingot drove into her arm, searing, scorching, charring…

Time was moving on without her again. Rose had only the barest awareness of her surroundings, caught up in the tidal wave with no defense. She could only wait for it to pass. Her lips were moving without her will, but she couldn't tell whether she was actually making any sound.

Something or someone was trying to get her attention, but it was like trying to focus on a single drop of water in a rushing river. After straining for a moment, she gave up.

Faces drifted in and out of her field of vision, but they had no meaning. Rose was trapped in her own nightmare, spinning in place. At some point she became aware of the fact that she was being moved. This information seemed more important, so again she reached for the present, trying to hold it long enough to find sense. She successfully picked out a single detail - wooden stairs. Not a hospital. Not a tower. She sank back down again.

Finally, golden brown eyes called out to her like a thunderclap, demanding her return. They were the only solid thing in a world of mist and shadows, and Rose clung with all her might.

The clouds parted, the storm having finally run itself out. Rose shot up and into his arms, gasping for air as though she had been underwater.

"We have to leave!"

"Easy now, dear. Take a moment. Everything's all right" Mr. Gold's voice was steady, but his arms were crushing around her waist and shoulders. With some force, she managed to push back and look urgently into his face.

"You don't understand. He's here, he knows! If he finds us…if he finds us…" Rose was desperate to make him understand, but a hard lump came up in her throat and prevented her from uttering one more syllable.

Mr. Gold caught her chin and looked at her intently. "Do you think I would ever let anyone hurt you? Didn't I promise to protect you?"

Rose opened her mouth to reply, but the lump stopped her cold. Mr. Gold put his hand to the side of her face, his gaze still intense. "I'm not afraid of anything. Neither should you be."

Closing her eyes a moment, Rose took a few deep breaths to steady herself. When she opened her eyes, she noticed for the first time that they were not alone.

They were all in the sitting room with Rose laid out on the couch. Emma leaned awkwardly in the doorway, shifting her weight from foot to foot as if her legs were itching to retreat from the tender scene. A man Rose didn't recognize stood back near the fireplace, and as her gaze landed on him he smiled tentatively and adjusted his glasses. She might have been nervous, but he had the perhaps the kindest face she had ever seen. His meticulous outfit was curiously offset by the wild, curly mop of red hair, further adding to his disarming demeanor.

Emma cleared her throat and started to explain. "I, uh, found you on the porch. This is Dr. Archie Hopper. I remembered that you didn't like hospitals, but I couldn't reach Gold so…"

Archie took a step forward, his manner casual. "I'm glad to meet you. I hope I didn't intrude."

Rose disentangled herself from Mr. Gold and sat up, straightening her sweater. "I'm sorry to meet you under these circumstances. I've had poor luck lately with first impressions."

Smiling warmly, he answered, "Please don't let me make you uneasy. I've seen quite a lot of odd things in my line of work, you'll have to try harder to spook me."

Emma approached her slowly. "Rose…I hate to ask, but do you feel up to answering a few questions?" Gold's expression was thunderous, and Emma put a cautious hand up as she continued, "I just want to make sure she's ok and there's nothing I need to worry about."

Rose put a hand on Gold's arm. "It's the least I can do, after all you've found me twice now. But I'm feeling a little exposed and a little thirsty. Would you mind if we took this to the kitchen?"

"Not a problem."

Rose turned to Gold and Dr. Hopper, "Could we bring you anything?" It was a subtle way for her to agree to what she perceived as a request for private conversation. Both shook their heads, but Mr. Gold's mouth was pressed in a hard line, picking up on her hint. "In that case, I'll meet you there in just a moment?"

Having secured tenuous agreement from all parties, Rose made her way cautiously to the small downstairs powder room. To her great frustration, she was bone weary from the outburst, a small pinpoint of pain behind her eye spreading into full throbbing. Now that the spell was worn down, she just wanted to curl up in a ball somewhere by herself. The fits were terrible, but the embarrassment was the worst. As reassuring as Mr. Gold was, she hated feeling like an incompetent, someone who needed looking after. No rest for the weary, she would have to deal with the guests before she could properly wallow in her failure. Pulling her hair back away from her face, Rose filled her hands with cold water from the faucet, swallowing a few mouthfuls before splashing her face.

Rose took a moment to study herself in the mirror before heading back to the Sheriff. Once again, she found her reflection a bitter disappointment. Pale, hollow, wide eyed - crazy little weakling. It felt strange, but she missed Belle. Sighing, she turned away.

Emma was sitting in one of the breakfast chairs, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. Her fingers were interlaced, and she tapped her thumbs together anxiously. She smiled tentatively, and Rose returned the smile as she headed over to the stove to put the kettle on.

"I do hope you'll get paid overtime for the extra hours I've added to your docket."

Emma shrugged, "Finding people has been part of every job I've ever had. You're just keeping me sharp."

"So far you're two for two. I don't think you need any more help from me."

"I think that's up to you, Rose."

Rose sighed as she joined Emma at the table. "How did you find me this time?"

"A guy named Derek Moore brought your shopping bags to the station, said he'd run into you and thought you may be in trouble."

Rose hunted gently through her memory for the name Derek. Nothing.

"This Derek…I don't suppose he's a handsome man with dark hair and a wheelchair?"

"You know him."

"I don't. I don't know Derek. I do know Gaston."

Emma put one hand to her temple as though she had a headache. "Ok. I'll add that to my files of multiple personalities. At least Henry will be pleased."

Rose thought for a moment. "Sheriff…I hope you don't mind me asking, but…do you have another name?"

"Thank God, no. It's hard enough to keep track of everyone else's aliases. One set of memories is plenty."

"I would have to agree."

Emma leaned back in her chair. "It must be hard. There are a lot of people having trouble with the new double standards."

"Any of them like me?"

Emma smiled apologetically, "Not quite."

Rose felt the heat rising to her face, "Which is why you need to ask me questions."

"There are a lot of volatile situations in Storybrooke right now. I'm not here to judge you at all, but I need to know whether you're someone I need to be worried for…or maybe worried about."

"What do you mean? Have I been accused of something?"

Emma's expression was one of concern. "Rose, you're living with Mr. Gold. It's only been a few months since he was incarcerated for beating a man into intensive care, not to mention all the baggage he brought from the fairy tales. Even Regina was afraid of him."

"Is there some kind of law that says I can't live here?"

"Of course not. But things are tense right now, people are shaken up, and no one knows anything about you. All we have to go on is a somewhat lengthy mental history and association with the man that put us all here."

"I can't change either of those things."

Emma closed her eyes for a moment, trying to keep her patience. "Rose…I hate to ask this and you don't have to answer…but what the hell are you doing with Gold?"

The kettle started a high pitched whistle, and Rose stood to remove it from the stove. As she added the loose tea for steeping, she wondered how she could answer such a question. It really wasn't that complicated, but no one ever seemed to understand. Would she always be on trial?

"Emma…how long have you known Mr. Gold?"

"Since I got to Storybrooke, almost a year ago."

"How well would you say you know him?"

"Well enough not to trust him. Every time I turn around I've got some mess of his to clean up."

Rose paused, trying to decide how to lead her. "Have you ever come to him when you didn't want something from him?"

There was a stony silence behind. Apparently Rose had guessed correctly that Storybrooke was not so different. No one ever came to darkcastle without a request.

Finally Emma answered, "Once. He asked me to come by the shop when the previous Sheriff…died."

Rose's face was full of sympathy as she rejoined her at the table. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

The wordless shrug was meant to be dismissive, but it spoke of a deep and personal pain that wasn't open for discussion.

"What happened when you came to the shop?"

"Gold said he was sorry for the news. He asked me if I wanted any of Graham's old stuff. I didn't really, but he sort of insisted that I take a set of radios so Henry and I could stay in touch."

Rose poured the tea while Emma mulled over the memory. Slowly, the Sheriff's eyebrows lowered in confusion. "It was almost…sweet."

Smiling a little at her success, Rose finally answered the question. "I am not in love with the man you are all afraid of. I'm in love with the man that he is. They are two different people."

Conceding the point, Emma nodded her head once. "Ok. I'll take that into consideration. But I have another question that might be a little difficult to answer."

"Might as well get on it with it then."

"These episodes you have. Last time you were wandering aimlessly. This time you were almost comatose, except you kept repeating the same things over and over. At any rate, you don't seem to be aware…not in control."

Emma leaned forward again, fixing her eyes on Rose's face. "When that happens, have you ever hurt anyone?"

Red-faced again, Rose answered quietly. "No. I would never hurt anyone."

"Have you ever hurt yourself?" This time Rose did not answer. Her delusions took over all her senses: sight, smell, touch. They were triggered by fear, and always she felt she was under attack. In trying to defend herself, to escape or avoid imaginary blows…there had been incidents in the past.

"Not on purpose. Not severely."

Emma sighed, "Look, I know you don't want to go back to the hospital, but I don't want it on my conscience if something happens to you."

"I'm not going back there."

"Then you need to admit you need help and get it. I know that all this is because of the curse, but the effects are very real. I can't keep cutting corners – if I find you like this again I'm going to have to call an ambulance. It's my job."

"So I'm to be a shut in?"

"That's not what I said. I said you're going to need help to make sure this doesn't keep happening. I think you should talk to Dr. Hopper."

Rose's smile was bitter, "Have you ever had the privilege of seeing a shrink?"

Emma's face was serious, "No. But my son has. Even if he couldn't believe Henry, Dr. Hopper always treated him with respect. And Henry loves Archie. I'm not recommending him because he's a shrink, I'm recommending him because he's a friend."

Sighing heavily, Rose nodded. Admittedly, Dr. Hopper seemed easy to like. If this was the price of her freedom, she'd pay it. And who knew, maybe he really could help.

7


	7. One Step

_Note from the Author: Thank you again for all the kind reviews. I am still pondering over the fairybacks, will let you know when any revisions are posted. Italics does seem to be the easiest solution, but my eyes have trouble getting through big blocks of italics for some reason. Ironic, I know, since all the author notes are exactly that. _

_I really do appreciate all the feedback, and I apologize for the delay getting this posted. Alas, I have my own dark curse that draws me away from time to time. Thanks for holding tight. _

_Also, please feel free to let me know if you have favorite characters you'd like to see. Ultimately, I'm writing this story because I can't wait for season 2. I want the story to feel similar to the show, but it's hard to have that "big moment" every chapter working with just Belle and Rumplestiltskin. I am completely open to suggestions. Hope you all enjoy._

Archie tossed his glass back, making short work of the brandy inside. It still stung a little, but he noticed some chagrin that it was getting easier to swallow. He would have to cut himself off soon, he was sure. After all, it turned out alcoholism did indeed run in his family. He remembered the little tin flask that always seemed to be in his father's jacket.

Everything about this situation was hard, but the hardest part was that Archie couldn't answer the question he had been posing to his patients, "Do you think your past is worth remembering?" His father's flask – had that been only one of the man's many vices or the last evidence of a long dead conscience?

Pouring himself another, Archie marked a date on his calendar for when he would dry out. For now he was willing to take strength from anywhere, anything to keep him on his feet. This moment was his big battle, what his character had been designed for. Everyone was in extreme doubt, unsure of who they were and who they wanted to be. Whether in the old land or Storybrooke, these were the trials that fell to him.

Archie had been working 20 hour days for weeks: filing paperwork, fielding urgent requests, seeing the influx of new patients, researching potential treatments. While there was some guidance from the old textbooks, the situation in Storybrooke was really one of a kind. He had to find a way to map uncharted psychological territory. The well being of the entire population depended on it.

The only problem was that Archie was certainly not "above it all". Remembering his parents and the nature of his friendship with Marcus was nothing short of devastating, soul-darkening. Not to mention the matter of Pinocchio – that threatened to bring him to his knees if his mind so much as skimmed the surface. Ultimately, Archie was aware of the fact that he himself was unstable and probably in need of professional help, but there was no one he could go to. Marcus was still his closest friend, but he was otherwise occupied at the convent most days – Archie certainly couldn't ask favors of him now.

The most exciting part of any hero's tale was often the most terrible for the hero. Once they made it over the climatic hurtle, there was time to put the pieces back together. Archie refused to falter now.

Finishing off the second glass, he made his way over to the coffee pot. His next appointment was in ten minutes. While the alcohol calmed his nerves, he needed to be alert enough to be engaging. Coffee was also fairly effective at masking the smell. Once he'd made a cup, he sat down to give the file one last review.

At first Archie had wondered if he should have a look at Henry's book, but decided against it. It was his practice to let patients reveal personal details at their own discretion. Medical history and public information was fair, but somehow reading the stories felt too voyeuristic.

Rose French made him want to rethink that decision. Mr. Gold had requested in no uncertain terms that family not be contacted without Rose's express request and consent. Moreover, he had refused to provide any account of her for the record. From her medical history, Archie was at a loss for where to start. He didn't specialize in abnormal conditions. Her medical record had a multitude of conflicting diagnoses from physical brain damage to schizophrenia . She'd been on a variety of heavy antipsychotic drugs, many of which were known to have heavy side effects that further complicated attempts to evaluate her behavior. Especially frustrating were the missing records – large gaps of time with no medical record, as though she were simply abandoned to her cell for months on end with no supervision. What had Regina been trying to do to this girl, and why? More importantly, how successful had she been?

Two light raps came at his door, and Archie tucked the file away. He never took notes during the sessions – he found that people didn't like to feel that they were being evaluated so much as having a conversation.

Rose smiled politely when he opened the door, but like many other newcomers her body language suggested that she didn't want to be here. Her expression was guarded, and she stood back in the hallway, allowing for ample space between them. Not surprised by the reaction, Archie did a quick survey to assess her physical well-being. The deep violet sweater she wore unfortunately drew out the circles under her eyes, and like last time she seemed a little too thin.

"Miss French, thank you for coming. Please come in."

As she settled into the couch, he offered her the few light refreshments he kept around the office – coffee, juice, pastries. Predictably, she declined. Taking his spot in the chair, he took a sip from his mug before settling back and smiling. All his former reverie was completely cleared, and he devoted his full attention to his patient.

"So what can I do for you?"

Rose looked a little baffled by the question. "Aren't you the one who wanted me to come?"

"Actually, you made the appointment."

Rose shifted uncomfortably. "Emma said it was the only way to keep from being sent back to the hospital."

Archie nodded, "Sheriff Swann is very good at what she does, but believe it or not her medical diagnosis doesn't carry a whole lot of weight."

"But she can call an ambulance."

"Absolutely, and that puts us in a tricky situation."

"Why?"

"Because it has never been my practice to enforce mandatory attendance. I can't think of anything less productive. I don't want to waste your time or mine if the only goal is checking a box." He gave her a moment to mull that over.

Rose twisted her fingers in her lap. "So where does that leave us?"

Archie smiled, "Just where we started. Finding out what I can do for you. If you'd be comfortable asking me some questions, I'd like you to use this time to determine whether or not I can help you, and if you want my help. Once we decide that I think the path ahead will be a little clearer."

Rose took a moment to choose her words carefully, trying not to sound harsh, "And if we decide we're not well matched?" He noted the display of sensitivity and awareness of others' opinions.

"If _you_ decide," he corrected. "Then we come up with an alternate proposal. I think it's only fair to tell you that I have looked over your medical history," at this, Rose winced, "and about the only conclusion I can come to is that your treatment at the hospital was neither consistent, nor effective, nor ethical. It is my professional opinion therefore that your return can only be detrimental. Since there is no other hospital in Storybrooke we have no option to transfer you to another facility. To this end, it is my duty and responsibility to keep you out."

Rose only stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, and then a ghost of smile played across her face. "You won't send me back?" After having read the file, it hadn't been hard to guess that she would need reassurance that this wasn't a continuation of that experience. The first step was to offer her a stark differentiation between what he was offering and what she had previously been subjected to.

"Under no circumstances. And more importantly I will oppose any attempts to do so. Unfortunately in your case that might mean spending an hour together each week regardless."

"You'd be willing to lie?"

"Not at all. I'd be willing to invoke patient confidentiality. There's not a court in the world that will force me to break confidence with my patients, unless there is knowledge of ongoing criminal activity or abuse. Is that something I would need to be concerned about with you?

"No."

"Then we should be covered. So with that being said…what can I do for you, Miss French?"

Rose leaned back and looked out the window, thinking. Curiosity played against her features. "Do you mind if I ask who you are?"

He picked up the umbrella that rested against his chair, holding it up for evidence. "I'm Jiminy Cricket."

She smiled at him. "Let your conscience be your guide?"

"You've heard of me I see."

"Why aren't you a cricket then? With the magic back?" Archie noted that Rose had managed to shift the conversation away from herself. For now, he allowed it. It was far more important for him to build trust at this stage than to get answers. If it helped her to learn about him, then he would do whatever he could to make her comfortable.

"Honestly, I don't know. The magic is back, but it seems to have different effects here."

Rose cocked her head to one side. "Do you want to be a cricket again?"

The question was innocent enough, but it danced dangerously close to one Archie was avoiding. Refusing to be rattled, he took a deep breath and pause before answering, "I don't know."

Rose studied his face carefully, and her next question took him by surprise. "Are you ok?"

In all the years he'd been seeing patients, no one ever asked him that. It was a simple question to which one should answer "yes, I'm fine," but as his pulse quickened the brandy coursed through his system, making him feel raw. Archie took another moment to regain his composure, but his hesitation gave him away. Rose reached across the coffee table and covered his hand with her own.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I'm never sure what safe to ask. It must be really hard, especially with everyone coming to you for advice. Thank you for agreeing to see me anyway."

Archie smiled and cleared his throat. "It's my pleasure, though I fear I may be off to disappointing start."

Rose's response was genuine, authentic. She didn't have a deceptive bone in her body, "Actually, I am perfectly relieved to find a human doctor. It's not your fault at all…but I'm going to have a hard time trusting you. This helps a little."

"I think that's fair. I appreciate your honesty. And you are welcome to ask me any question you want to, I'll answer as best I can." It was not so much a psychological trait as a personal one, but Archie couldn't help but notice that Rose was very disarming. It would have to be to find a way under Mr. Gold's skin.

Rose folded her hands in her lap, her expression apologetic. "I don't mean to be direct, but I do have a couple of difficult questions I need to ask."

"Absolutely."

She took a deep breath, trying to make her expression hard. It didn't suit her face. "Are you going to drug me?"

Archie's face was serious. "I will not force you to take anything, so long as you are not posing an immediate threat to your physical safety or that of the people around you."

"Do you think that's a possibility? That I might be dangerous?"

"Seeing as this is the second time I've ever spoken with you, I honestly don't know. For now I'll defer to your judgment unless I see evidence to the contrary. I know that's not quite the answer you were looking for." Rose shook her head. "Would you mind if I gave a lengthier answer then?" She only waited for him to continue.

"Generally speaking, I prefer to minimize the use of medication as much as possible. I find that treating the symptoms often delays progress in treating the cause. However, there are some cases where the symptoms are so severe that they overwhelm a patient. In these cases nothing can be accomplished until that person is back in control." Standing, he went to the file cabinet and drew out Rose's file, handing it to her.

"This is your complete medical history. I'd like to lend it to you so you can read it. I find it so inconclusive that I would prefer to disregard it and base my opinions solely off my own observations. However, my own observation is that you've suffered at least one event of being overwhelmed, and this file corroborates that there have been others, some a little more… dramatic.

Rose's attempt at a hard face cracked around the edges, defeat showing through. Archie continued, "That being said, in most of these cases it would be impossible to rule out whether the heavy medication didn't play a role. I think our first objective is to find out how much of this is actually you before we plan any kind of treatment."

"They had stopped giving me medication. At least I thought so."

"It's unclear from the notes exactly what date that stopped, but based on the episodes I would suggest it's been nearly four months ago, as there is textbook evidence of withdrawal listed with your symptoms. Also, it was utterly irresponsible. You should have been weaned off slowly, stopping those drugs cold causes potentially life threatening consequences."

"I remember something like that."

Archie moved over to the couch besides her, making his frustration plain. It wasn't entirely professional, but he decided it was necessary, "Then before I continue, there's something I need to get off my chest."

Rose looked wary as she leaned away from him, but he continued. "I want to apologize to you. I am so sorry for the way you've been treated, and what you've gone through. The file you have in your hand is a disgrace and a blight. I know that coming here was no small effort and I am truly, truly sorry."

To his surprise and dismay, she started blinking furiously and turned her face away. "Miss French?"

She put one hand up, asking for a moment. "I didn't mean to upset you."

She shook her head, "I'm sorry it's just that…"she stopped and took several steadying breaths, "Everything that's happened, even from before…no one has ever said they were sorry for anything. I guess I wasn't expecting to hear it anymore."

Archie clasped his hands together, "I'm happy to be the first, but I certainly hope I won't be the last." Rose met his eyes with a grateful smile, and he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he moved back to his chair.

"So as a long, drawn out answer to your question," they both chuckled awkwardly, "Is that so long as you can manage your symptoms through other means, then I will not ask you to take any medicine. I would ask that you take some time to review your file and self-reflect. If there's something you think you need, I'll be happy to talk it over with you. I do have some suggestions that may help, but first you said you had some other difficult questions for me."

Rose tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe we'll save the others for another time. I have some easier ones too."

"I'm at your service."

"Why do you do what you do?"

Archie laughed, "I thought you said easy questions."

"You don't have to answer if you don't-,"

"No no, I did say I would try. Give me a just a minute to think about it." Archie stood and paced in front of the windows. He certainly wasn't going to share his whole story, but how to simplify?

"I think all people have times in their life where they need help."

"I would agree."

"As a younger man, I had such a time. And the help I needed wasn't there. I turned to the wrong things, made the wrong decisions. Those decisions came with terrible consequences, and not just for me. I don't want anyone else to go through what I did. When a person needs help, Miss French, it's important for them and for everyone else that help be there," he shrugged, "I do my best."

Rose looked at the floor. "I can't tell if that's a desire to help or a desire to be forgiven." Perceptive.

"It's probably a little of both. I don't really care which."

"So basically, you don't care whether you're Archie or Jiminy?"

Archie shook his head. "Not yet. As long as I can do my work, not yet."

"I care. I mean about being me or…Belle."

Archie picked up his coffee mug again and took a sip. This was the very first personal detail she had offered, and it was telling. "Why?"

Rose sighed heavily and closed her eyes. "Dr. Hopper. I'm a mess. I'm incompetent, incapable, and weak. I'm not healthy, or happy. I could deal with that when it was all I could remember, but now…now I know that this is not me. This is not a person. Belle is my only chance. And as much as I hate it, I don't think medicine can help me be her again. I think I need magic, but I'm afraid of it."

Archie's attention was rapt. There was no choice more ripe with the potential for destruction. He kept his face open and receptive, hoping she would elaborate, "You were thinking that Mr. Gold could help?"

"No!" her response was nearly a snap, and she stopped herself with an apologetic look. "It can't be him. For him, magic is poison. I don't want him to use it for anything, least of all me."

"Does he know that?"

Rose smiled and studied the floor. "With all due respect, doctor, I'm not ready to talk about him yet." So she did understand how detrimental magic could be. He hoped that hesitation would give him some time to help her reflect.

"Fair enough. We'll table that for now. What is it about Belle that you want to get back?"

"Everything."

Archie adjusted his glasses. "Well, Miss French, you're right. I can't help you go backward. I don't know if magic can either. In my experience, there is never a way to undo what has been done. I know it's not what you want to hear, but there's a good chance that you can no longer be one or the other. Rose or Belle. You may have to learn to be both."

Rose looked up at the ceiling, sighing in defeat. "I don't think that's possible."

"Well you see _that_," Archie held his arms out in an offertory gesture, "is exactly where I can help. Since everyone in Storybrooke woke up, my job has not been about finding our way back. As far as I'm concerned there is no way back. It's about moving forward."

"Bu what if there is a way back?"

"When that becomes an option you'll have to consider it. But I think you have to agree that isn't one of the immediate choices. Right now you can either choose to recover or…stay exactly where you are. And that is entirely up to you."

Rose fixed him with a searching, penetrating look. That one came much more naturally to her. "And you really think you can help me? Fix me?"

"Yes and no. I think I can help you fix yourself." He leaned forward, returning her inquisitive look with an earnest one, "You deserve some happiness, Rose. But I need you to give me a chance."

A long moment passed as Rose studied him, considering. Archie waited patiently, not wanting to push her.

"All right. I'll let you give it your best shot. But I think our time is up."

Archie laughed, "That's my line."

They stood and shook hands, then he guided her to the door. She stepped through, but then turned. "One last thing, Dr. Hopper?"

"Archie is fine, but go ahead."

Rose took a step closer to him and put one hand on his arm. "Archie…you're not going to find forgiveness in that bottle."

The air rushed out of his lungs and his mind fumbled for some response, the doctor in him effectively silenced. Her look was not judging or disparaging, just gentle. "Maybe it's not a bad idea to take some of your own advice."

"H-how did you…?"

"I'm pretty good at figuring people about. I don't know why. But don't worry. Overall, I'm very impressed. You're a good person. And I think you could probably use a friend more than patient."

Archie clenched his teeth together and swallowed hard. Rose dropped her hand and made her way down the hall.

8


	8. Driven to Distraction

_Note from the Author:_

_Thank you all so much for your patience and kind reviews. I'm sorry for the delay in updating, it seems that the forces have conspired against me the past several weeks between work and weather – just got my power back today after a five day outage for northern Virginia. This chapter is a bit longer than the others in hopes you will forgive me. _

_I very much enjoyed writing Archie last chapter, so I appreciate the positive feedback on him. I'm really impressed with his character on the show, and we will be seeing more of him in this story. I hope we'll see more of him in season 2! Please feel free to keep me in check with handling these characters, and also to let me know if there's anyone you'd like to see more of. _

_This latest installment is from the perspective of our very own Gold/Rumple. I will use his voice sparingly in this story, as I think it is far more entertaining to wonder what he's up to then to be told. Still, I hope you enjoy this little glimpse. Thanks for reading!_

Mr. Gold slammed the book closed in frustration. Removing his reading glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to regain his patience. He had known this would be a delicate operation, if it was possible at all. Magic was back, but most of his collection was in the old land. In many ways it was like starting from scratch.

But time was a precious commodity now – the return of the savior had sent the clock ticking. There would not be enough to fully recover what had been lost. Gold's hand was forced, and he would have to play it by ear as best he could.

At least the playing field was even. The movement of time and the weakening of the curse (for how could anyone think it was fully broken, with everyone still stuck here) had dealt equal amounts of desperation to both him and his enemy.

What was Regina up to? Her disappearance was no surprise. Gold had been the one to suggest it after all. To be truthful, he'd had a similar plan for himself. Alas, to Regina's credit and his dismay, she had been able to introduce a variable that he had not anticipated; one which had ultimately changed the game for him.

Rose was asleep in her room upstairs. This was the only time he could devote to his original purpose, and his time was already limited. Though he was frustrated with his slow progress, he couldn't begrudge her a single second of his attention. For the first time in so many years there was color, a quickening of awareness, a flash of reality – a flicker of light in an ocean of darkness. Unfortunately it brought with it a great and terrible fear.

Gold was at a loss for how to help her. He had no control over the curse and could not alter it – that was the sole ability of the enactor. He could use additional magic to try and counteract some of the effects, but using magic against magic often came with a doubled price. Even if that weren't the case, the results here were less predictable – he wasn't willing to take risks with the only thing he had of any value.

So what then? Play the supportive partner? He was fooling himself if he thought he knew how to be the hero.

Placing the book back on the shelf, Gold brought his focus back to the task at hand. One thing was certain – Regina was trying to distract him. The stunt with Gaston playing a chair-bound Derek Moore was a clear message: she knew he had Rose. Moreover, it was a demonstration. Derek had not been here for 28 years, though his memories would most likely suggest otherwise. There was no way Gold would have left him unnoticed and unscathed all this time. No, Derek was new. Madame Mayor was introducing new characters to Storybrooke, and she'd wanted Gold to be first to know.

Of course this would be partly diversionary. Regina needed to let the blood thirst die down, give everyone a new show to draw their attention and tear them apart. She was pulling out all the stops – even knowing her intentions, Gold couldn't help playing into her hand, couldn't resist the distraction she'd concocted for him. He'd have to do something about Derek, but he also needed to figure out the master plan. Subtlety had never been Regina's forte, but pulling something this obvious was clearly a cover.

Until he knew more about her true purpose, Gold wouldn't make a move. As difficult as it was to be patient, there were still factors in his favor. With Henry happily in Emma's care, Regina would now play like she had nothing to lose – carelessness was a formidable enemy. Already she was tossing magic around like it was a toy rather than a live grenade and racking up quite a balance sheet. His ledger, on the other hand, was almost squeaky clean. After all, with the Mayor gone, he had no desire to draw attention to himself.

Regina had also exhausted her alliances. Her father was dead, as was Maleficent. Sydney Glass was locked away. Katherine Nolan now realized who had put her through the sham of a marriage. Admittedly the people of Storybrooke had no love lost when it came to Gold either, but like before they couldn't deny his usefulness. They resented him, but as long as they knew he was capable of helping them achieve their happy endings, allowed him to pull their strings.

If he had to wait on confronting the enemy, then there were other things on the ever-growing to-do list: the item at the very top haunted every waking moment. Regina's little intrigue be damned, this entire saga had one single purpose that had yet to be fulfilled. Where was Bae? Baelfire was the beginning and end of the story, but all this time searching had yielded nothing. He was in this world, Gold was sure, but not in Storybrooke.

The next step in finding Bae was the same next step to thwarting Regina – lifting the seal on Storybrooke. There had to be a way out, or at least a way to make one. If he could pull that off he could widen his search and potentially shake Mayor Mills off his tail. Escapees, one in particular, would throw a heavy wrench in her plans.

Getting out would require magic, certainly; but what kind? His research had yielded few encouraging leads. The dark curse was certainly the most formidable ever concocted, skirting it would be a feat of great skill and precise planning - once he learned how. Taking a deep breath, he took another book off the shelf.

Rumplestiltskin fumed through the halls, rage seeping out of every pore. Traded the dark curse? For a sleeping spell? Useless – completely useless! Maleficent was a charlatan – in the end she was nothing more than a show of vanity. Her great rage came only from her frustration that not everyone seemed to recognize her own magnificence. Of course she'd enjoy having such a jewel in her treasury, but only for display: Maleficient would never have what it took to enact it.

Maleficient wanted everyone's adoration – Regina wanted everyone's pain. That was key! It was why he had chosen her in the first place!

And why today, of all days? Was it a sign that the Blue Fairy was right – that the curse would never come to pass? The dark curse had gone from near completion to all but abandoned…on Baelfire's birthday.

Rumplestiltskin refused to let himself think of what birthday they would be celebrating if Bae were back home – he would not consider the possibility that he might run out of time.

He had been so victorious the night before at the ball. With his help, Ella had fulfilled her dream and become a princess. The true love she shared with Prince Thomas would help Rumplestiltskin fulfill his own dream. True love was the most powerful magic in the world, it could break any curse: children born of true love were like wild cards. Snow White's someday child was destined to be the savior, but Ella's could prove a truly valuable pawn once the curse was set. Now, the very next morning, it was a matter of "if".

Slinging his satchel off, he slammed it against the wall with such force that the candelabras quaked, and its battered contents showered the floor. Behind him, he heard a light gasp, and without thinking he turned and stalked toward the sound, face like a tempest.

Belle held the tea tray out in front of her like it was a shield. Unable to contain himself, he knocked it out of her hands and it landed with a crash.

"Did I send for you?" he seethed, inches away from her startled face.

"N-no sir."

"Then why are you here?"

"I heard you come in…I thought…you usually ask…," she gestured to the broken mess steaming from the floor.

"You've spent quite a lot of time studying my habits for a scared, pathetic little maid. Whatever is it you're trying to learn?"

He expected her to continue stammering, but instead her face cooled a degree. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"Should I?"

Belle's voice was frustratingly gentle when she responded, "I'm not your enemy. And you aren't mine. I think you know that."

"Then what is it, exactly, that you think we are?" That question set her back to stammering, and she stared at her fidgeting fingers as she fumbled for an answer. The meekness made his assault unsatisfying. "You're useless - a graceless princess, a clumsy maid, and a talentless spy. Useless to me."

Her jaw tightened and her eyes came back up, "You're very used to saying whatever you like, aren't you? After all you're the dark one – you know everything."

"Oh-ho! Found some nerve, have we?"

Belle's eyes glinted dangerously, "You don't know anything about me. You haven't taken the time to learn. But I am getting to know you, Rumplestiltskin. Enough to know you aren't even angry with me. In fact, you aren't angry at all."

He took a slow, menacing step forward, and though she turned slightly away she held her ground.

"Quite a theory. Shall we test it?"

Belle took a deep breath, the pale skin of her throat and cheeks flush with fear or agitation or both. "You see – your anger is cold, like this. And you're angry because I'm right: there's something else on your mind, and you pretend its anger because that's easier to deal with. If screaming at me will help, then go ahead. Just understand that even I have my limits. I know I'm not good at anything, but I do try very hard anyway." She kept her face hard, but her meaning was not disguised. She wasn't scared, or angry – he'd hurt her feelings.

It was true: Belle did try very hard, to be pleasant, to be helpful, to be patient. She watched him closely not out of suspicion but in an effort to learn how best to please him. And he made it very hard on her always, mostly on purpose. Worst of all, she was perceptive, and absolutely right. A tiny feeling unfurled and started to spread like sickness, a feeling almost totally foreign, forgotten: guilt.

Why? Didn't he decide to take a princess into his service as amusement? Why should he care at all about her feelings?

Belle had obviously been a poor choice for his maid. No matter what he tried, he couldn't make her hate him, hate the castle or her fate. Often when we tried to rile her he was rewarded only with laughter or piqued interest. Now this: her thousand tiny acts of kindness had awoken his long quiet sense of remorse, over something so trivial has a tongue lashing – it was hardly the worst of his sins.

She stood before him now, obviously unsettled, expecting a response. Rumplestiltskin certainly wasn't going to confess and apologize, no matter that a tiny part of him wanted to. The remorse prevented him from launching another assault. He considered dismissing her, but that read almost like an admission. Not for the first time, he found himself at a loss of how to reply. The confusion had cooled his ire to a degree.

To his dismay, Belle watched his face closely, noting each subtle change of expression. Squaring off her shoulders, she addressed him. "Tell you what, why don't we both try something new? I'll clean this up and put on some more tea with lunch. You can go have a moment to calm down and change out of your travel clothes. Then if you like, I can try and entertain you. Maybe I'm better at distracting than arguing."

Actually, if there was one thing Belle had been successful at since coming here, it was that: being a distraction. Between the clumsiness and the unpredictability, he found himself sidetracked in increasing frequency. In truth, if she could manage it, he wouldn't mind having these particular thoughts derailed.

Unwilling to let his guard down or reward her for taking the high ground, he replied, "I doubt that. But don't let me spare you another chance to embarrass yourself. I'll be down directly." As he turned to go, he cast over his shoulder "Leave the mess. You'll only injure yourself and I'm not in a helpful disposition."

"And who should clean it up if not the maid?"

Rumplestiltskin gave no response but instead hastened to his chambers. Once inside, he relaxed against the door, grateful to have her blue eyes off his face. Though he didn't want to admit it to himself, he usually rather enjoyed her attention, more so since the incident with the ladder. When he was his right self, it was indeed amusing to test and toy and watch her ponder. In his current state however, he found it unsettling – as though he were the one being tested. She was an odd, peculiar little thing in that way.

Having no desire to linger here with his thoughts so tangled, Rumplestiltskin decided to take the easy route. He removed his travel cloak, tunic and boots. Underneath he still had his gold brocade outfit from the ball, though perhaps somewhat worse for wear. Taking a moment to assess his condition, he crossed his hands at the wrist, extending the first two fingers. The familiar swath of purple smoke enveloped him, and an instant later his appearance was restored from that of a disheveled traveler to a more proper lord, with the usual notable exceptions – complexion, eyes and the like. He added a midnight blue velvet overcoat trimmed with gold braid. It had a high collar, giving him an appearance of greater height and serenity. The lace at his collar and wrists made his movements seem almost elegant. It would serve the wench right to be reminded of her station, and of his. Perhaps it just might remind him also: to be rattled by the maid was beneath him.

Not wasting any more time, he made his way back towards the great hall. The broken tea pot still lay in a steaming heap on the floor, so he waved a palm to vanish it. Belle was indeed alarmingly clumsy; a shredded maid with a smart mouth was the last thing he needed.

When he entered the great room, he could hear her bustling about the kitchen not far off, working on a fresh pot to be sure. Once again his newly discovered conscience started to twitch uncomfortably, but with some effort he managed to squelch it. Taking a seat in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, he contented himself to stare out the window toward the valley below the castle. The open windows were still an adjustment, and he found the scenes outside almost new. Today a strong wind tugged at the trees, warning them urgently of the storm that was surely to follow. They danced and swayed in agitation.

A few minutes later Belle returned with the tea service laden with kettle, cups, cream, sugar, and lemon muffins which seemed to have become a staple. Rumplestiltskin was rather keen on them so he didn't complain. Once she'd put the service at his arm, she took the chair opposite his and let her eyes settle on him once more. For a brief flash, she looked almost startled.

"What?" he snapped irritably.

"Nothing," she replied hastily as she studied the carpet.

"I daresay you've seen me enough times by now to stop the dramatic reactions."

Rolling her eyes, she scoffed at his assumption. "I just didn't realize today was an occasion."

All at once, Rumplestiltskin felt completely foolish in his finery. The dark coat made him feel more silly than regal, the pressed shirt and lace collar comical against his goblin-like skin. Any ambition he'd had for intimidating crumbled. For the second time that day he wished her gaze would depart from him.

Just as he started to feel the urge to squirm, she smiled in an encouraging way. "You look rather dashing all dressed up. You should do it more often."

Dashing? What did she mean by that? Was she mocking him? "Weren't you the one who's supposed to do the entertaining?"

"Oh right. Yes." From her apron pocket, she withdrew a small, narrow box. Opening one end, she emptied it of its contents and began shuffling what was apparently a deck of cards.

"This is the best you can do?"

"Hardly – this is just a place to start. You didn't expect to see all my best tricks on a first date did you?" she was teasing him good naturedly, trying to lighten the mood no doubt. It had a completely opposite effect.

So, rather than him reminding her of her servitude, she intended to remind him of his curse? Was it so far-fetched to think of him behaving like a normal man? If it was the curse they were discussing, he was more than willing to participate.

Closing his eyes and lacing his fingers, he informed her calmly, "The game will be 'gin'. Your hand will be a queen, two jacks, a nine, two sixes, a five, a three, and a two. You'll abandon straights in favor of sets and lose. As you lose, you'll realize you've left lunch too long and it will be over cooked."

Belle watched him warily, then placed the deck on the small end table. Slowly, she dealt them each ten cards and then looked over her hand. He repeated, "Queen, two jacks, a nine, two sixes, a five, a three, and a two."

"And what are you doing, while I do all that?"

"I sit here, bored, wondering why I expected any different."

She glanced back at her cards, "Hmph. Some prophet you are. Though I suppose four cards out of ten isn't too shabby."

Rumplestiltskin blinked slowly, nonplussed. "You are an absolutely appallingly bad liar."

Cutting her eyes at him, she spat back, "Well you're an absolutely appallingly bad sport. I am actually trying to make you feel better you know – even though it was hardly part of the original agreement."

"Then why bloody bother?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

"Like I said, you're a terrible liar. Try me."

Smoothing her skirt, she placed her cards back on the table and sat up straight. "Very well. Because I'd like very much to be your friend, Rumplestiltskin."

"And why would you want to do that? Do you expect to find comfort from the very person who put you in this present situation?"

"No. I enjoy your company. Usually, anyway," she amended pointedly.

He kept his face smooth, even though this answer dumbfounded him. "Servants do get rather bored without someone to order them about."

"Actually with the exception of tea, you give me very few orders. Normally you're preoccupied with your own endeavors."

"So you'd prefer me to be a more demanding master?"

"No. Try listening this time: I would like to be your friend. And have you be mine if you like."

"Huh. What do you get out of this new arrangement I wonder?"

"Two things actually. The first is obvious – I get a friend out of it. Someone to talk to, to enjoy being with. I don't mind being alone much, but sometimes it can be a little lonely here. The second thing I would hopefully get out of it is your respect."

Laughing wickedly, he caught her meaning, "That's what this is? A roundabout way of voicing your offense?"

"I'm not offended," she said quietly. "In all the time I've been here, you've never spoken to me like that. I wish I knew what had made you so upset, but I doubt you'll tell me. It's just that," and here she took a deep breath, "I'm not actually very thick skinned. It's one of my biggest failings. I want to help, but I can't hold up to that kind of assault. I like you. I think highly of you. It hurts me to hear that you think so little of me, even if you don't mean it. And maybe if we were friends, you could find another way for me to comfort you."

It took all of his effort to maintain even a semblance of calm as Belle studied him. "What sort of insane route did your mind take to suggest that I want comfort from you?"

Sighing, she put the deck of cards back in her pocket. "Nevermind. I shall just have to toughen up. However, I promised you distraction. May I ask where you went this time?"

Belle's voice was cool now and her eyes studied the carpet. The sting of guilt grew into a full stab, and all at once the tables turned – Rumplestiltiskin felt compelled to restore his maid to her former good humor.

"You had quite a knack for guessing games when last we played – perhaps you can tell me?"

Though perhaps the veiled praise was a small token from anyone else, it came with great effort from him. Her eyes wandered to the window, unappeased.

"I wouldn't know what to guess."

"I suppose I did give you a hint last time. This time, I am wearing the hint."

"You always dress with quite a flourish. That hardly gives me a place to start."

She was being pert, and he should be angry about it. Instead he felt himself more determined.

"Very well. I'll give you another hint." Raising one hand, he used magic to fill the great hall with sound: voices, laughter, and-

"Music!" Belle's eyes turned back toward him, all at once a measure of happiness back in her face. An odd feeling of satisfaction spread through his chest, one which he tried to ignore. "It's a party," she sighed wistfully, "a dance."

As she swayed slightly back and forth in time, he tried to draw her further into her usual humor. "You sound as though you enjoy dances. First princess-like thing I've seen from you."

Belle cut her eyes at him to let him know he wasn't totally forgiven, but answered nevertheless, "At home, dances were one of the few times every year that were just for fun – where everyone could be themselves. At the palace, balls were one of the few social functions where I knew what to do."

"You never struck me as the dancing type."

"Nor you. I suppose we have something in common after all."

"I'm hardly one for dances."

"And yet you just came from one. Did you dance with anyone interesting?"

He didn't know what made him say it, but the words tumbled out nevertheless, "Actually yes. I danced with a princess."

Belle laughed, "Are you starting a collection? I realize that I'm not a traditional princess, but I thought I still counted."

"What makes you think you don't?"

"I've been here months and months and you've never danced with me."

She probably didn't mean to sound jealous. She was probably just teasing. Nevertheless, he felt his spirit lift just the slightest bit. Standing, he bowed with a flourish and offered his hand.

Belle's eyes were suspicious, but the tiniest smile played at the corner of her mouth. "Do you mean it?"

"Like I said, I would never spare you a chance to embarrass yourself."

Taking his hand, she stood and gave him a challenging, playful look. "Why don't you just try to keep up, dark one."

Stepping closer, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He placed his on her waist and changed the song, leading her into one of the more intricate palace dances. All at once, he found he was totally distracted by the sounds, the steps…her presence.

Friend. Perhaps he could use one.


	9. Undefeated

All magic comes with a price. Every choice comes with a price. There is always a price to pay. Why was it always hers? When would she be paid back for her efforts?

Regina studied her reflection in disgust and clutched the tiny scroll containing the dark curse closer. The curse burned in her hand, and the smoke of her singed skin drifted upward, adding an even darker element to the woman in the mirror.

Putting even a single drop of ink on the parchment tested her skill and resolve. The pain was excruciating, and yet she carried on, letter after miserable letter. At times, she prided herself on her endurance, but moments like these the truth was more difficult to bury. Regina didn't continue because she chose to, she did so because she could no longer stop. There was nothing else left, and she had come too far.

The woman in the mirror chided her, "At the rate you're going, old age is going to end Snow White before you do."

"Be quiet," Regina said dismissively, "It's easy for you to say while you're safe behind the glass."

The reflection was unfazed. "You know your problem? You're too ambitious," it continued, voice dripping with disdain.

Cutting her eyes in warning, she retorted, "A fact for which you should grateful. If we'd stuck to your original plan, I'd still be married to that idiot, Leopold."

"And living as a queen in a palace. Would you call our present situation preferable?" The reflection raised an eyebrow as it studied the background.

Scowling, Regina couldn't help but glance at her surroundings. Not a queen, not a mayor – reduced to a fugitive witch, and beginning to look like one. Her lovely palace, her fine house – traded for this hovel in the forest. Nestled into the side of a hill, it felt more like a cave than a lair. Thankfully, the electricity still worked, providing for some light. It had been designed as a holding cell, not a safe house. If she had any element of conscience left, she might have felt a pang of remorse, knowing that Kathryn Nolan had been kept here, drugged in the dark for so many months. Wonder what Mr. Gold had used it for before?

It was a stroke of genius, really, hiding in Gold's own trap. Not only was it one of the last places he'd look, it was also one of the last places he'd come. Now that everyone was awake and the queen herself vanished, he was probably under more scrutiny than anyone else in Storybrooke. Predictably, the little coward was playing it safe and keeping his nose clean. He'd gone to all the trouble of bringing magic back, but hadn't bothered to use a scrap of it. It was one of the things that made them different – Regina was willing to take risks.

Still, she couldn't deny the bitterness twisting painfully inside, thinking of her enemy/ally. With all her beauty, all her power, all her ambition, Gold had still accomplished what she could not. He had people who liked him. Maybe even someone who loved him. It was unfair, unthinkable…and unacceptable. He was the one who had made the curse, and if justice was going to be served, he should get his due helping. If writing the curse hadn't been enough of a conviction, she had now added his complicity in giving her son over to Emma. Emma, the savior. Emma, Snow White's brat. Emma, Henry's mother.

The rage seethed anew, now with a different flavor than Regina had ever before experienced. Pure, uncontrolled wrath had become very familiar to her over the past decades, in fact it had eclipsed everything else in her until there was nothing else left. Daniel had been her whole world, and anger had been the only thing that would fill the hole his death left behind, cauterize the gaping wound. She didn't think there were any surprises left in fury – not until she'd lost Henry.

The reflection called her attention back to the present, "Feeling is useless unless it is used, Regina. Self-pity won't comfort you."

Her neck snapped back toward the mirror. "Stop patronizing me! You're not even real!" She put a hand over the mirror woman's face, summoning the pain and damage caused by her most recent attempt to alter the curse. Channeling it through her fingertips, she felt it slide through the glass with relief. The reflection, on the other hand, groaned as it aged further, lines deepening around her eyes and mouth, shoulders sagging.

All magic came with a price and Regina was running out of things to give, yet her need was greater than ever. For now, she was using her reflection to bear the brunt of her burden. Her very life force was spent with the use of magic, and her youth and beauty were in serious jeopardy. The mirror spell was a loophole that would keep her image intact. Unfortunately, the spell granted the glass version some amount of liberation and now it was both a constant and frustrating companion.

The mirror woman clutched at her face in agony, but Regina waved a hand to smear her away. There was too much to do to waste time arguing with an illusion. She summoned an image of Mary Margaret, the person always at the top of her checklist. As usual, she was infuriated by what she saw.

Mary Margaret was placing fresh cut flowers on the table where Henry and Emma sat. Emma's arms were crossed across her chest, shoulders tense. From what Regina had been able to tell, Emma was having great difficulty adjusting to the new reality, but especially the new family dynamic. That was some comfort. The spell might be broken, but that didn't necessarily mean that Snow White would get her daughter back.

Mary Margaret smiled tentatively at the Sheriff as she took a seat at the table. Just then, David came in from the kitchen, carrying a pot from the kitchen with oven mitts.

"Who's ready for some chili?" he announced proudly.

Henry held up his bowl enthusiastically, a question on his lips as usual. "It smells great! Did you guys have chili in the old world?"

Mary Margaret and Emma shared one genuine smile, bonding over the precocious little boy - Regina's little boy. Her fists tightened in frustration as she watched.

David chuckled, "Not exactly. We had stews, sure. But meat and spices were pretty expensive and hard to come by. At least for anyone not royalty."

"But you were royalty, right?"

Mary chimed in, "Well, we were both lucky enough to get to spend some time living in castles, but Charming wasn't born to it, and I spent a great deal of time of the run. I think we both got our fair share of parsnip soup."

Mary and David shared a smile, and he kissed her cheek as he took the last chair at the little table. Regina tried hard not to notice how happy Henry looked with a mouth full of chili and all his heroes seated around him, doting on him. To notice would tear her apart. She had provided him with a lavish home and all the best toys, changed diapers and sheets, helped with homework, gone to doctor's appointments and teacher conferences…yet he had never looked so happy having dinner with her, never been so interested in her life and adventures.

The weary voice of the mirror woman drifted back out again even though her image was gone. "You do realize that he's the best way to hurt them. Snow White, Charming, Emma. If anything happened to him, they'd be devastated forever."

"But no one so much as me. So stop suggesting it."

"You can't go on this way much longer."

"Silence."

Waving her hand again, Regina saw Archie straightening his tie. He'd slept on the couch in his office again during the lunch hour, clothes wrinkled and appearance disheveled. With August and Marco still at the convent, he had no reason really to leave. He'd taken to having his meals and rest in the small, cluttered quarters of his practice. His dog, Pongo, was whining in the corner, and Archie grabbed the leash off the wall peg.

"Come on boy, we have to be back in time for our next appointment. Who is it we're seeing again?"

Archie flipped through some papers on his desk. Suddenly, a small smile crept over his face. "We're in luck. It's our friend Miss French. You'll be happy to see her, won't you?" Scratching the dalmation fondly behind the ears, he attached the leash and made his way to the front door.

Hmm. Seemed Archie was making a friend of the little lunatic. Could be useful at some point. Speaking of lunatics…she waved her hand again.

"It's ok, papa. Let me take care of it." Paige patted Jefferson's hand gently as his jaw trembled. A broken teacup lay shattered on the floor.

"I'm the one who should take care of you."

"But you do, papa. You've watched over me all the time. I can make tea. I'm a young lady now you know." She smiled encouragingly, and Jefferson tried to return it as believably as possible. His dismay was plain to Regina, however. She had truly driven him mad – he wasn't really fit to be taking care of a young child on his own. But who was going to help the mad hatter?

Still, Jefferson was the only one who could control the hat, and since magic was back, so was his value. Jefferson was uncomplicated. Regina could put him back in her pocket whenever she was good and ready. He wouldn't resist a better life for his daughter, and Regina had the power to grant that at any time once he had something worthy of the trade.

Waving her hand again, she finally caught something of interest. The fairies were assembled in the sanctuary, the Blue Fairy at the front with her usual heir of authority. How did such a mild mannered, tiny little woman command her troops so absolutely?

"I think it's very important that we settle the matter in a public forum, with everyone in agreement. We here understand magic better than anyone, which is why we can best appreciate just what kind of risks it poses in our present circumstance. But people are scared and confused. They are more likely than ever to grasp at anything that will make them feel secure without considering the consequences. We must provide a united front."

One single fairy stood, "So what you're saying is, we are going to call a town meeting to make a decision you have already made?"

"Sister Astrid, this is not about what I want. It's not even about what we as fairies would want. It's about what's safe."

"How is anything safe? We are still in a cursed land and now magic is running rampant where it was never meant to be. You're going to ask everyone to just go on as if nothing has changed?"

Mother Superior took a deep breath and answered patiently, "We are going to ask that no one act out of fear. None of these people used magic before, there's no reason they should start now."

"And what about us? We spent more years than we could count learning how to harness it. Wouldn't we be their best defense?"

"We have to lead by example. We knew how magic worked in the old world, here it has been nothing but destructive. As much as we've studied, the first rule of magic is still the same: good magic is selfless."

A murmur of assent went up from the assembly, and the single fairy sat back down, face hard with frustration.

So they were planning to restrict magic? Finally, some good news. The magic in this world was confined to Storybrooke. Right now it was like a running river, rushing through every hollow place, seeking channels out to the sea. Without other users interfering, Regina could dam it up into a reservoir. When a user left magic idle for long periods, it became possible to cut off their source. If the so called "good" people were going to leave magic idle, Regina could cut them off, one at a time. The fairies would be a good place to start. With nowhere else to flow, magic would flood to her.

To accomplish such a feat without being found out, Regina needed distractions. The truth was she needed help, but couldn't afford more debt. She needed to think of some people who would be happy to help her sow discord in Storybrooke, free of charge. Bringing more characters meant adding more ink to the scroll, but it was the price she was willing to pay.

Regina waved her hand across the mirror once more, but the image was pulsing, fragmented. She knew it was useless to try and glimpse into Gold's life – he'd been prepared for some of her old tricks. Still, she tried to make out what little she could. Gold hadn't yet realized how much magic Rose carried – once she had gotten too close to a mirror and disrupted the shields, giving Regina a brief glimpse into the little imp's lair. Sadly, all she'd seen was a pathetic, skinny little crazed girl, crying over her own repulsiveness. Now the shapes and colors swirled into an indecipherable mass, sounds so garbled they were unintelligible. Regina would have to think of a different way to keep tabs on the slippery dark one.

Deals were his weakness, the thing he could not refuse. If she could get one of her charms into his possession…but what? What kind of thing would Gold find valuable?

He had one other weakness – the girl. If it were something Rose needed or wanted, Gold would provide it for her, no questions asked. Surely there must be something that would tempt her.

An idea struck. Regina turned back to Archie, who was just returning from his walk with Pongo. Hanging the leash back on the peg, he shrugged out of his jacket and scarf and picked up a stack of files. Regina wove a subtle suggestion between her fingers and sent it through the mirror. Archie shivered slightly as the spell landed, but took no real note of it as he made his way to the coffee pot. That ought to do the trick.

"Nicely played," her reflection conceded.

"So glad you noticed," Regina answered, failing to recognize the irony in condescending to her own self.

"I still think you're spreading yourself too thin. You need to prioritize. How does this hurt Snow White?"

"It's not just about her anymore. The promise was to take away all the happy endings. Snow is just first on the list. And don't assume I've forgotten her. She thinks I'm the only person who could possibly dislike her. I think it's time she gets a different perspective on her own reflection. This town meeting may be just the opportunity."

Sitting before her mirror, subtlely moving pawns, Regina burned the night away. She would bide her time and wait for her chance. As long as Storybrooke still existed, the game was not over.

5


	10. Taking Sides

It was the middle of the afternoon, but since it was a weekday the streets were fairly empty. Nevertheless, Rose fiddled with the charm bracelet Mr. Gold had given her when she left the house. After her run in with Gaston, or Derek Moore, she wasn't completely comfortable going out on her own, but being trapped in one place again had driven her quickly stir-crazy.

Mr. Gold had invited her to come to the shop with him during the day, but Rose declined. It was hardly a matter of needing alone time: she felt guilty. Living in his home, eating his food, depending on him so completely; she was not going to be baggage that followed him wherever he went, even if she did feel safer, even happier when he was near.

Still, once he was gone it would descend on her almost before the door had closed: the feeling of being trapped. Gaston was out there. The Queen was out there. Maybe many people from her old kingdom as well. There was no telling what they would do to her now, no telling what they might try to do to Mr. Gold. Rose knew that he could take care of himself, but still had trouble linking the awesome power of the dark one to her now soft spoken gentleman.

The soft ticks of the grandfather clock grew in her awareness like thunderclaps, the containment setting her teeth on edge and clenching her fists. No escape. Nowhere to run. Completely alone.

Rose thought to use some of her old habits as a distraction, but Mr. Gold was not nearly so cooperative as he had been at dark castle. He'd come home from the shop to find her vigorously cleaning and nearly lost his temper.

"What do you think you are doing?" His tone was calm, calculated – dangerous.

His frustration had startled her. "I didn't break anything."

"You are NOT the maid. You are the lady of this house, and per the doctor's orders you are still recovering."

The way he said "lady of this house" had made her blush all the way to her hairline, but his aggravation made it difficult to respond. "There's so little I can do for you…"

"I beg to differ," he placed his cane in front of him as though giving an edict. "You can rest. You can heal. You can read. You can relax and enjoy my gifts like a proper princess."

The thought of being here alone, still and quiet made her fingers tremble. "I don't think I can do that. I've never been a proper princess, if you remember."

Usually her reminders of dark castle made him more amiable, but today he pressed on, "Bored already are you?"

"No!" she exclaimed, but as she did she dropped her dust cloth. Stooping to pick it up, she continued, "Well, not with you. I love being with you."

She had meant it honestly, and that at least seemed to diffuse him a bit. A small smile softened Gold's expression, and he stepped forward, taking the cloth from her fidgeting hands. "Then what is it?"

Sighing heavily, Rose searched for the right words. How to explain without sounding needy, or insane, or making him guilty for not spending every waking moment with her? Was there a way to do it and still be honest?

Biting her lip, she took her best shot, "It's just…hard now. Not being able to leave I mean. Knowing that you can't go out because they're all waiting out there…"

Gold's face was incredulous, "My dear, whatever made you think you couldn't leave?"

Unnerved by his obliviousness, her words tumbled out over one another despite the careful choosing. "Well how am I supposed to with Derek and Regina, and heaven knows who else I might run into? Not to mention the fact that if I did run into someone and have another episode they'd call an ambulance and cart me back to the mental ward. Sheriff Swann said herself she's out of options. But I can't just follow you around every minute like a desperate shut in. You've already done so much and I can't do one single thing in return and-"

With a light laugh, Mr. Gold placed a finger over her lips. She stopped the torrent of words but gave him a pointed look, challenging him to refute her.

He took a moment to grab her gaze with his own, taking his fingers from her lips to the side of her face. She still studied his eyes when she could, searched there often to make sure the same Rumplestiltskin was underneath. The golden brown was so different, but she was quickly taking a liking to it. He always was quite talented at finding ways to distract, that at least was the same.

Smile in place, he spoke gently, "You still don't believe I can protect you, do you?"

Rose cast her eyes down and studied the floor shamefaced. It wasn't that she underestimated him, it was that he underestimated her enemies. It was her own fault – she still hadn't told him everything, probably never would. Gold would either burden himself with it or give in to his anger, and Rose didn't want to be the one responsible for drawing out his dark side. But she hadn't thought her lack of trust was so obvious.

"I am more than happy to earn your faith. But with this particular dilemma, I may have a more ready solution."

Rose couldn't help it, she looked up at him hopefully. His smile widened as he made his way to the back room, her following a pace behind. This was where Gold kept new merchandise to appraise, determining what went to the shop, what went to auction, and what went straight to the bin. Rose gnawed her lip again as he swung the door open and stood still, taking it in.

After a moment he turned back to her, his face deadpan. "You've been busy today I see."

Rose tried to shrug it off, not wanted to annoy him further. "Just a little tidying, nothing much."

He looked back at his room and sighed, shaking his head lightly. "However am I supposed to find anything?"

She tossed a half-hearted glare at him, but a smile she couldn't contain undermined the effort. He wasn't angry, just teasing her. It took him only a moment to find what he was looking for among the neat, orderly, categorized and labeled rows of items. Snatching it off the jewelry tree, he'd turned and presented it to her with a flourish worthy of Rumplestiltskin.

Rose studied the little charm bracelet dangling from his fingers, unsure of what response she was meant to have. A single charm clung to the delicate gold cord: a set of drama masks. How would this help?

"I don't understand," she offered honestly.

"Of course not dearie, I haven't explained it to you." He touched the charm lightly with his index finger, and it shimmered purple before it faded back to its metallic luster. "This is an enchanted charm. One that will allow you to go anywhere you like without being recognized, not even by those who know you well."

The question jumped off her tongue before she even thought about it, "What about you?!"

Scoffing, he answered, "I can hardly fool myself with my own magic. I'd be exempt of course."

She tried to mask her relief. "But it will work on everyone else? Even Regina?"

Gold's eyes took on that dangerous gleam at the mention of her name, "Especially Regina. But mind, it is delicate magic. If you want someone to recognize you, all you have to say is, 'Do you remember me?' Once you've done this, that person will be immune to the charm from then on, so you must be sure."

A smile broke out on her face and she reached for the bracelet excitedly. He drew it back just out her grasp, making her look back at him questioningly.

"It appears I'm spoiling you already. This is not a gift. I expect something in return."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Rose smiled at him playfully, "What's it to be, oh powerful dark one? I don't have anything you haven't given me. You keep asking for favors and you'll destroy their market value."

With a flick of his wrist, he produced another charm, this one a small gold star. "This charm will allow me to find you, wherever you are. If you want the masks, you must wear this charm as well - whenever you leave the house." Gold's face was serious now as he extended his other hand to shake on the terms.

Rose studied him for a moment, as though considering. Really she was toying with him. She guessed correctly that he was worried his request would annoy her, and maybe someday it might. For today, it made her feel that much more secure – no one could take her where Gold couldn't find her again.

After a moment, she brushed his hand aside. His shoulders sagged and he took a deep breath, preparing to argue. Before he could, she closed the distance between them, planting a grateful kiss on his cheek. "It's a deal." To her great satisfaction, he had blushed just the tiniest bit.

The first few days Rose had only ventured out onto the grounds and down the sidewalk a little ways. The open space still made her nervous, but now that she knew she could leave, her anxiety was tremendously lessened.

Her first big trip was to her counseling session with Archie that week. She'd told Gold over dinner that she was going to ask if she could start looking for work. His enthusiastic reaction had both pleased her and concerned her at the same time. Maybe he was just looking forward to a little more time to himself…or maybe she was starting to bore him? Gold would have said she was being silly, but every now and again small things would make her think there was somewhere he wanted to be, something he wished he was doing. He was a busy man after all.

She refused to dwell on it, focusing instead on how nice it would be to have something different to tell him each day. Archie had scheduled her for Monday, a day when Gold's shop was closed. Though he was home, Gold knew it was important to Rose to be able to do this on her own. He'd seen her to the door, wished her luck, and told her he would see her in an hour.

Rose held tightly to her charm bracelet, trying to draw confidence from it as she made her way down the street. It was a cold day, and she wrapped her pale grey wool coat tightly around her to keep out the chill. As she got closer to town, other people started appearing on the street. Squaring off her shoulders, she marched past them, never making eye contact. She tried hard to believe in the charm, but she still found herself waiting to hear her name called out, the spotlight to land on her. She felt like a fugitive.

It was the last thing Rose had expected, to see a friendly face. But sure enough, wrapped up in her white coat with a beanie covering her black hair, Rose's friend from the clothing store made her way down the street. Rose almost called out to her, relieved to have an ally nearby, but quickly realized this was the perfect chance to test her new magic.

With great effort, Rose held her head high. As Snow passed, she looked up and offered a casual smile, but no trace of recognition dawned. They passed each other. Sighing in relief, Rose relaxed for the rest of the journey.

Once outside Archie's door, she slipped the bracelet from her wrist, tucking it securely inide her purse. She had barely entered hiss office before Pongo jumped up, nearly knocking her backward. Archie swatted his nose with a newspaper, but Rose just laughed and scratched the shamefaced pup behind the ears. Pongo was maybe the only person in the whole world who seemed to think she was durable; she would never dissuade him from his opinion.

Archie ushered her inside and Rose took her accustomed seat in the chair by the window. As always, he offered her something to eat or drink. Today, she accepted a glass of water. The minor progress was not lost on her counselor, but he didn't comment.

"So how are things going? Anything special you wanted to discuss this week?"

Rose took a deep breath and tried to cooperate. "Well, I've been incident free for two weeks now."

"Excellent." Archie nodded as he acknowledged the achievement, but didn't overemphasize the importance. The goal was not to "incident free", but rather to actually be well.

"And Mr. Gold is still being kind to me. I think he still worries that I'm fragile, and I still worry about being a burden," Rose continued with what was really on her mind, what she most wanted to ask about. "So I was thinking maybe I would start job hunting again this coming week."

Archie's eyebrows knit together. "I didn't realize you were looking for employment."

Rose nodded her head enthusiastically. "I know I'm not qualified for anything terribly prestigious, but I thought I could surely find something. I thought maybe I'd try at the restaurant first, see if they have any openings."

Archie took a sip of his coffee and then set it on the table. "I know Ruby who works up there. It's a lot of long hours, lots of people around all the time. She has to deal with some pushy types, but she loves it. It suits her. What attracted you to it? Have you ever worked waitstaff before?"

"No, not really. It just seemed like a good idea, a good place to start. What kind of pushy types?" Rose twisted her fingers in her lap, suspicious of his response.

"Well Ruby's a pretty girl, and some men do like to hit on waitresses, that kind of thing. Then there are customers who confuse waiters with servants, want everything now, now, now and scream if they don't get it. Nothing too out of the ordinary," he paused and considered for a moment, "I guess the hardest part for me would be being around so many people all the time. Don't get me wrong, I like people. I'm just more of a one-on-one, small group kind of guy. Public gets me a little rattled. But Ruby thrives on it. Very outgoing."

Rose sighed and slumped in her chair. "You don't think I could do it, do you?"

Archie shook his head, "I didn't say that. And you didn't ask my opinion. What made you think I didn't approve?"

"You're using Ruby as an example of a person who would like it and be good at it. I'm not like Ruby."

Archie raised his eyebrows at her quick catch. Rose could never tell whether she liked his 'psychological' side. "How so?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she admitted, "I'm not great at being around a lot of people."

"Why not?"

Clenching her fists and trying not to be irritable, she answered more sharply than she intended, "Because I go crazy and scare everyone and then they try to lock me up."

Archie sat still a moment, giving her a moment to think about what she'd said. "Rose, I wasn't trying to tell you what to think. I'm trying to gauge how you really feel. And you sound like you're not really all that confident yet. So why do you want to push yourself? Why right now? Is it a money issue?"

Utterly defeated, Rose only shook her head.

Archie smiled, "Don't lock me out just because you don't like my answer. We don't have to avoid an issue over a difference in opinion I hope. If this is a goal for you, I would like to help you get started. You just like to move faster than me most of the time."

Realizing that she must seem sulky, she straightened up and smiled back apologetically, "I know. Thank you for being patient with me. It's just that…I don't know if everyone will be so patient."

"Who's everyone?"

Rose gave him a pointed look. Archie leaned back with a chuckle. "Careful. A look like that could kill. All right, I'll read between the lines. You're worried that Mr. Gold might get fed up with taking care of you before you can actually get better. So you're understandably eager to have some concrete progress you can point to. Is that what you meant?"

She shook her head and laughed at his astuteness. "You know Archie, sometimes you make me feel terribly unsophisticated. It would have been enough for me that you knew I was talking about him."

Archie put one hand to his chest, his good-natured smile still in place. "My deepest apologies. I know this may come as a surprise, but I do have some experience in reading people."

"Imagine that."

"In all seriousness Rose…you are actually one of the more sophisticated people I've ever worked with. That's one of the reasons I keep slowing you down. I know it's frustrating, but your thoughts are so intricate. Pulling one string can affect a thousand different strands. I can't predict how those strands will change, I don't think anyone can. But the best I can do is to encourage you not to make a decision until you feel confident about it."

Knitting her eyebrows together, she answered hopelessly, "But that can take forever."

Archie laughed, "Not forever. Just far longer than you would like; far shorter than I would recommend."

Just then, Pongo jumped up again, putting his front paws in Rose's lap. Archie let out an exasperated sigh, "I'm going to stop bringing you if you can't control yourself."

Rose giggled and scratched him behind the ears again. "Don't you listen to that mean ol' grasshopper. You're perfect just the way you are. I'm happy to see you too."

"You're spoiling him you know."

Rose stuck her chin in the air, grinning mischievously, "Of course."

All of the sudden, Archie face lit up. "You know, that's not actually a bad idea." Rose cocked an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "Do you think you might like to have a pet of your own?"

Looking at Pongo in alarm, she replied at once, "I couldn't possibly take your dog!"

Archie laughed, "No no, not Pongo. You're welcome to visit him any time but I've gotten attached to the big goof. We do have an animal shelter/SPCA on the edge of Storybrooke, you could go there and find one that suits you."

Rose pondered this, trying to squelch the pigtailed girl inside who jumped up and down at the thought of a new furry friend. "Why do you suggest it?"

"Well think about it – a pet would require you to set up a routine, to be accountable. Also, they tend to be good therapy for those dealing with post trauma and they don't run out of patience. All in all, I think calm companion might be just the thing you need to get you on the road to more confidence, and _eventually_," he gave her a meaningful look to emphasize the word, "a job."

They had realized they'd gone over time when there was a knock at the door. Archie had apologized to both her and the family waiting outside, a father with his golden haired daughter and shy son, before Rose had taken her leave. Now she had the walk back home to consider the option he'd given her.

The truth was Rose would love a pet no matter what – and if it would please Archie, all the better. He couldn't have prescribed a better milestone towards her goal. It would be nice to have another heartbeat with her throughout the day. She did love Mr. Gold's company, but her feelings around him were sometimes a jittery jumble. It had been a long time since she'd had just a friend.

Rose stopped dead in her path as she realized…she would have to ask Gold. Just as quickly, despair settled on her. A pet? In Mr. Gold's house? With Mr. Gold's nice things? After everything he had already given her, how could she possibly ask for a pet?

Not only that, but any time an animal was adjusting to a new environment, there were bound to be "accidents". How did she suppose he would handle finding his expensive oriental rug soiled, or his expensive furniture chewed? How would his nice suits hold up to the onslaught of fur when the seasons changed? Or worse yet, what would he do if he found his magical items strewn across the floor, partially devoured?

Rose felt like throwing her hands up – asking for a pet was out of the question. Which meant Archie would be displeased, which meant no job, which meant Gold would get tired of her, which meant the end of everything. Why couldn't she just get well?

Taking a breath, she spoke to herself sternly, "You are being absolutely ridiculous. You will get well when you decide to get well. You knew it wouldn't be easy, and you knew you would have to make some hard choices. You will stay calm and think it through. You can do this."

Rose spotted a bench on the sidewalk and took a moment to sit down. She could hardly go back to Gold in this humor. She started listing off the facts in her head. The basic question was one of pleasing Archie or Mr. Gold. For now, that was obvious: she would not ask Mr. Gold for pet, not now anyway. The remaining problem was long term – the best way to please Mr. Gold moving forward was for her to get well. The best way to get well was to please Archie. It was a conundrum.

Absently, she fingered her charm bracelet. Was he watching? Could he use the bracelet to see her, or just know where she was? She should probably ask about that. He was so good at making deals, she always forgot to ask these things up front. She fervently hoped he didn't see her fuming on her bench.

Suddenly Rose remembered something – the last time she had felt this way. It was when her father had told her she should marry Gaston. She didn't know him yet, for all she knew he may have been her one true love, yet the news had left her frustrated, torn between who she should please.

That gave her resolve. If she had been stronger then, this whole mess might have been avoided. She wasn't exactly strong now, but virtues followed practice. If she wanted to get stronger, she had to start acting the part. For now, Mr. Gold and Archie could take a backseat. She didn't need their permission to make a decision. She would certainly consider them and their advice, but this was her life, her choice. And what she wanted was a job.

That realization made her feel better, but now she was left with what kind of job. Obviously she had limited qualifications in this place, so being a teacher or librarian was not an option. That being said, Archie was right about the waitressing job: it didn't suit her. The noise, the commotion, the people - it would be foolish to set herself up for failure when she was still shaky on her feet. She needed something low key, calm – just a part time job to get out of the house a bit at a place that wouldn't ask too many questions about her medical history.

That left her back on the bench, out of ideas, but not quite as deflated. There was no rush, after all. She could go home and do research on the businesses in Storybrooke. Maybe something would jump out.

Rose had just stood up to go when the best, most perfect idea hit her: what about the animal shelter? They tended to be low paying and short on funds, but money wasn't really the issue. She would be working with animals, setting up an accountable routine like Archie said, just sidestepping her way into a job. Even Gold would be proud of that negotiation. Also, Belle had grown up in a small farming village, so she had some experience with raising animals. If only they needed some help!

Rose pulled the small slip of paper out of her purse with the address Archie had given her. She wasn't sure how to get there, but Mr. Gold could point her in the right direction. But if everything worked out, wouldn't this be a perfect surprise?

Filled with excitement, she jumped up and went into the nearest business: "Granny's Bed and Breakfast". An older woman sat behind the counter, painstakingly arranging room keys on a board. She looked up with sharp eyes when the bell on the door rang.

"Excuse me," Rose began shyly, "but could you tell me how to get to this address?"


	11. The Virtue of Impatience

_Note from the Author: Um…I'm sorry. I meant to do more with this but for some reason I just got lost in the moment. Plot next chapter. I hope this doesn't sound rambly, cause I was all giddy in my own head. Thanks again for reading!_

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the part she was specifically ignoring, Belle knew that she didn't need to dust the candelabras again. There was no dust on them. There hadn't been the last two times she'd dusted them either. Still, she marched herself up the step ladder with her rag and started back at the far corner of the great hall. The afternoon sun beat in harshly, illuminating the room in a garrish orange glow. It's normally cheery presence was now ominous…night would soon fall. Another day gone.

Refusing to think on it, she scrubbed all the harder at her imaginary objective, racking her brain for what else should be done. The sheets had been changed only hours before, room aired fresh for his return. A newly pressed set of clothing was laid out. Bathwater was heating, tea kettle at the ready. She had made all the dinner preparations; it was only waiting to hit the fire. The great hall was spotless, (except for the traitorous candelabras of course), table set, dishes catching light from the setting sun. Tapestries had been beaten and aired off the balcony. If only she could bring in some plants! Most of the flowers had faded with the warm season, but there were still some mums growing in the bare spots. If nothing else she could at least have gathered some evergreen and mulberry boughs to make the place more lively, but alas, she was not able to leave these halls.

Fool that he was, the deal also meant Belle could not go out looking for him, which is what she was most itching to do. What if he didn't come back? How would she ever know what had become of him? If something happened to him, would she then be able to leave? Perhaps she could try…just to get out onto the grounds, just to see if the magic held…but then what if she was successful? What would that mean?

Shoving such thoughts violently from her mind, she climbed down from the ladder and began storming toward the kitchen. There had to be dishes to wash, counters to scrub, something! She would not sit here and worry like cooped up hen. As she passed by the glass cabinet doors of the dark one's display case, she glanced inside to see if maybe she'd hidden a chore in there.

Instead, Belle caught sight of her own reflection and froze, clenching her fists in frustration. A perfect mess stared back at her, mouth twisted in an angry scowl, wayward curls sticking out in all directions. The blue dress – the one he had given her – was wrinkled and dirty. A fine sheen of sweat clung to her, making her skin shine in a most unbecoming way. Was this the girl he would return to? After such a lengthy separation, was this the manner in which she would greet him? Unacceptable!

Letting a hiss of hot air escape between her teeth, Belle made her way toward the bathtub. She certainly wouldn't use a full bath and waste all the hot water, but she could at least take a bucket or two to improve her condition. Once she got to the bathroom however, she couldn't resist peeking behind the sheet that always covered the looking glass. After getting a clearer view, she decided with a sigh that the dress needed more attention than a bucket could give.

Filling the tub half full of hot water, she emptied her pockets and tossed the blue dress in for a soak. In the first bucket, she placed her white shift with some ash and lye, and then used the last bucket to try and clean herself. As usual, her hair was the real challenge. Getting it untangled was a terrible chore, especially abused as it was. Once it was in some semblance of order she was able to clean it, but then it needed to go through a second untangling, this one more painful than the first since her hair was wet. That accomplished, she put it in a series of braids, pinning it up like a crown around her head. Letting it dry this way would hopefully produce graceful curls – any other method and she'd be left with a cloud of frizz.

Once she'd cleaned herself to her satisfaction, Belle took one of her guilty pleasures off the counter. Opening the little box that had been discarded from one of his packages, she applied the loose powder inside to her freshly cleaned skin. The powder had been supplied to her to make soap and replenish the stores, but she'd saved a bit of it. From the tea chest Belle had painstakingly pilfered dried florals and crushed them up to add a pleasant fragrance. She hadn't meant to be devious, only her work often left her rather disheveled. On more than one occasion she found herself feeling self-conscious when Rumplestiltskin would appear unannounced to find her in such a state. It was for the sake of decency; that was all.

Wrapping herself in a drying rag, Belle brought her dress and shift down to hang in front of the kitchen fire. She pulled up a chair and put her back to the heat so as to help dry her hair. The sooner the better; there was no telling when he would arrive. That thought in her mind, she closed and barred the door. The dark one would certainly not be thwarted by a locked door, but it might buy her enough time to deter him with a shriek.

The only problem now was that she had no choice but to sit still and wait for the fire to do its work. With her body idle, Belle's mind took off. Rumplestiltskin had been gone for nearly a fortnight. He had never been gone this long before. With all his power, what could possibly be taking so long? Couldn't he just transport himself to his front door?

But nothing could hurt the dark one. He was immortal, powerful and fearsome. No one would dare go up against him. And yet, Belle had once heard rumors that there had once been another, almost as ruthless, who Rumplestiltskin has usurped many years ago. These were old wives tales, surely. She'd lived with Rumplestiltskin these many months and had barely learned anything about his past: there was no way the maids and cooks could possibly know more about him than she.

Yet he had not returned. The spinning wheel stood idle, the castle silent but for Belle's footfalls. The longest he had ever been gone was five days, and even that she'd found maddening. After all, she was effectively isolated with him gone. But now it was twelve days, more than double his previous record. And in truth, it wasn't the isolation that was getting to her.

Belle was worried. Terribly so. It wasn't like him to be gone so long. There had been no word and she was powerless to help him, trapped as she was in his estate. If she approached the door with the intent of opening it, she found her feet turned to stone, stopping just out of reach of the handle and refusing to go further. The windows were no better. She'd once thought to open them just to stick her head out and found herself flat on her back as soon as she touched the latch.

What could possibly have happened? Belle didn't even know well enough where she was to send a message to anyone, even if she knew how to get a letter out. She kept scolding herself, reminding herself that Rumplestiltskin was no one to be trifled with. He was probably fine and having a wonderful time out with interesting people making elaborate deals, and she would feel silly for such thoughts when he returned. Still, the cold, twisted feeling in the pit of her stomach would not be mollified. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong.

Lacking any further patience, she put on her mostly dry clothes and spun back and forth in front of the fire to get the last of the dampness out. Rumplestiltskin would certainly be home today. As Belle made her way back out to the great hall, she was dismayed to find that the last of the light was nearly gone – darkness was descending quickly. Grabbing a candleholder and taper from the mantle, she was quick to go about the room lighting the candelabras she'd so painstakingly assaulted earlier. She'd fight for the light as long as she could: another day gone made the possibility of his harm all the more real.

Once she had the room illuminated, she used her reflection in the display case to loose her hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders and down her back. Pinning up a few strands at the sides to keep it out of her face, she felt a faint sense of satisfaction. The exertion of the day had left her cheeks flushed, and her hair had for once come out beautifully. Her shift was immaculate white again, and the powdered finish had left her skin looking soft and delicate. More importantly, the blue dress Rumplestiltskin had gifted her hung once more gracefully and pristine, it's restored hue drawing out the blue of her eyes. She pressed her lips together for a moment to bring out their color, and then blushed slightly when she realized what she had done. Belle was not preparing for a ball, there was no need for her to look pretty, only decent. Yet…she was pleased to look at least a little pretty, and wondered if he would notice.

Shaking that thought firmly from her head, she subtlely adjusted the folded napkins of the table before heading back to put on more bathwater.

The night closed in, and the time drew on. Still no sign of him. Belle stared at the door, as though she could threaten it into opening, but it was unmoved. Finally, hesitantly, she sat at the spinning wheel, turning it just to watch it spin. The low creak it gave as it made its round was familiar, and it set a pang at her heart.

"Where are you?" she whispered to the wheel, as though somehow he could hear her. There was no answer.

Belle made her way over to the windows, looking out at the black night and the glittering stars. They were always clearer in the autumn. Tonight there was no moon, which added to their light. Looking down the road, she tried to decipher any sign of movement, listen for any sound that might indicate a traveler. There was none.

It was growing late. Soon it would be midnight. The day was gone.

Belle shrugged to no one in particular. Rumplestiltskin was master of this estate, he could come and go as he pleased. She tried once more to reassure herself that his prolonged absence had no further meaning, but the false confidence brought up a hard lump at the back of her throat, so she decided to stop thinking all together.

With a decided trudge, she made her way around the hall to snuff the candles, leaving the room awash in shadows. Taking the dishes back to the kitchen cupboard, she also removed the kettle from the fire and dampened the flames back to embers. Nerves raw and mind spinning, she went numbly to her "room". There she removed her blue dress and hung in its place, a nail on the wall near the door. She put her hair in one long braid and gave her pristine white shift a heavy sigh before lying down in the straw. It would still be decent enough tomorrow, but not exactly perfect.

It had been a long time since Rumplestiltskin had bothered with locking her in at night. Now she kept the door open a crack so she could listen. As she squeezed her eyes shut, Belle realized she'd forgotten to eat but didn't feel much in the mood. If only sleep would come quickly!

Would this be all her nights? Lying still, wondering helplessly, and begging for the anesthetic of unconsciousness? Anxious to distract her thoughts, Belle recited in her mind some of her favorite poems. When that didn't work, she started counting down from a hundred. When that didn't work, she started again from one thousand. Finally, sleep took a tenuous grasp and pulled her just barely under the surface, wrestling to keep her.

Late into the night, the front door creaked. Belle shot up like it was cannon fire, holding her breath and listening to see if her ears had deceived her. After a moment, the latch clicked into place as the door shut again. With no further thought, she was up off her bed of straw and up the stairs, bare feet slapping against the stone.

A moment after she rounded the corner into the great hall, another thought stopped her in her tracks. What if it wasn't him? What if something had happened and the victor had come to collect the spoils?

The hall was almost completely devoid of light, only shapes and shadows could be deciphered. Her eyes searched them, and at last spotted the cloaked figure. A combination of hope and apprehension rose up within her chest, and she stood stock still, waiting for the spectre to reveal itself.

It waved a hand in the darkness, and all the candles lit at once, bathing them both in light. Belle heaved a sigh of relief as she identified a wide-eyed Rumplestiltskin, and flew towards him with no further thought. She threw her arms around him, exhaling the last of her fears.

Rumplestiltskin stood like a statue under her embrace. "What _are_ you doing?" he questioned indignantly into her shoulder.

As the anxiety faded, Belle was momentarily surprised to find a rush of white-hot anger chasing on its heels. Releasing him abruptly, she took a few steps backward to glare into his face.

"Where have you been?" Belle's tone was demanding, and her voice sounded too shrill.

Rumplestiltskin's voice was playfully taunting. "Temper temper! We've discussed this before. That's _my _business."

Unfazed by his antics, she repeated again, and this time her voice was all but a shout. "Where have you been?!"

His eyebrows lowered in confusion and incredulity. "What has come over you? First you run out as the picture of impropriety, and now you intend to give me a tongue lashing? You should know by now dearie, I do just as I please."

His voice held a slight edge of menace, but if Belle noticed she hardly cared. Clenching her fists at her sides, she didn't even try to contain herself. "How could you?! Do you have any idea what you have put me through?"

"Had a little trouble entertaining yourself did you?" Rumplestiltskin's tone was unforgivably dismissive. "With run of the entire estate, seems you could have found some occupation. What a needy little thing you've turned out to be."

In a calmer state, Belle might have recognized Rumplestiltskin's usual diversionary tactic. She had him quite off guard and off kilter, and with further pressing might have actually won her point. If she were calmer, which she was not.

When she spoke this time, it was with a voice she had not used in years. Her commoner's tongue was fully loosed by her fury, and she resorted to let fly insults she had learned from farmers and tradesmen.

"You cad! You blackgard! To think I wasted ére a moment of thought! To the pit of thieves and traitors with you!"

Rumplestiltskin leaned slightly away from her as she railed at him, waving her arms emphatically. This was hardly the normal demeanor of his mild-mannered, cheerful maid. She had finally presented him with an opportunity to rile her, and yet the dramatic change in her mood only gave him pause.

When she paused to draw a breath, he asked quite calmly, "Belle, are you sick? What is wrong?"

His reserve caught her off guard and rendered her momentarily speechless. She stood before him, teeth and fists clenched tightly, fighting for control.

Sighing, Rumplestiltskin rephrased his question. "Why are you angry with me?"

In a trembling whisper, she replied, "I didn't know where you were, or if you were all right. I thought something had happened, and I couldn't get out. There was nothing I could do to help you or find you. I was here for twelve days with no word. I thought you were dead."

On the last word, her voice broke and she rushed from the hall, back down the stairs and into her room, closing the door behind her in humiliation. What a scene. After all this time, and she had thought to greet him prettily. Instead she'd run out in her nightclothes and raved like a lunatic. Perhaps he would punish her later, but for now she didn't care.

A fact she had long been avoiding was now quite obvious: she cared for Rumplestiltskin. It was not merely a working truce or shaky friendliness – no skin deep affection would have produced such a reaction. No, she cared for the man, the beast, as deeply as anyone else in her life. But Rumplestiltskin had no such affections. Perhaps he was not even capable of them. Belle had loved a mother who could not live, a father who deep down wished for a son, and now a beast who had no heart to give. Maybe true love really did exist only in books.

Dejected and embarrassed, she wept out the last of her adrenaline into the straw. All hollowed out, she knew that sleep was no longer an option. However, she could not sit and wallow either. In all these months, Belle had never lamented her fate, she was not going to start doing so now. She would simply have to face it and make amends as best she could. Fortunately there were still a few hours until dawn for her to collect herself.

A light rap came at her door. Belle closed her eyes tightly, hoping perhaps that she had imagined it. Two more raps followed moments later, accompanied by his voice.

"May I come in?"

"You don't need to. I'm all right."

There was a brief pause. "Just the same."

Sighing, she relented, "One moment."

Not wanting to appear in her shift again, she quickly donned her blue dress and fastened the bodice. Unable to spend much time with her hair, she tied it simply in a low ponytail. The darkness would have to cover puffy eyes and swollen nose. So much for pretty.

Squaring her shoulders off, she opened the door and gestured him in. In better spirits, she may have laughed at the irony of inviting the dark one into his own dungeon. He entered solemnly, moving hesitantly as though not sure if he would be met with another outburst.

Despite herself, Belle became curious. What exactly had he come in here to do?

She tried to make her voice gentle, reassuring him that the dramatics were over. "You wanted something?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, yes. I um…well, I thought I should apologize."

Belle stared at him wide eyed, shocked to silence. He continued quickly. "It's my nature to antagonize, you see. I thought you were merely vexed at being alone here, I didn't realize…I never dreamed…"

His silver eyes fell on her, direct and serious, "Why were you so concerned for me? What is it to you if I ceased to be?"

Belle held her breath as the heat rose to her face. She thanked her lucky stars again for the darkness. How could he ask her such a thing? What was the true answer?

Through sheer force of will, she kept her eyes trained carefully on his, commanding her lungs to draw breath. She believed in being forthright, and knew that her honest response would be a difficult thing for him to accept and understand. Every bit as difficult as it was for her to summon the courage to tell the truth.

Trying to keep her voice steady, she answered, "It would be terrible for me. I have never been allowed to keep anything I've ever cared about. I had hoped that under these very unlikely circumstances, my luck might change. If you are going to keep me here forever, Rumplestiltskin, then I should get to keep you, too."

Rumplestiltskin's face, for the first time she had seen, took on a truly serious, thoughtful expression, as though he were drinking each word a sip at a time. For an indeterminate amount of time, they stood wordlessly, eyes locked, considering each other anew.

Finally, Rumplestiltskin broke the silence, extending his arm. "Come with me."

Timidly Belle complied, feeling raw and exposed. She looped her arm through his gently, barely touching as they departed the familiar cell. He led her back up to the main floor, and then to the staircase. On the third floor was a room used primarily to hold all the gold he spun. Belle was almost never in it since there was very little to clean. They paused in front of this door, and she looked at Rumplestiltskin in confusion. What could he mean by bringing her to the treasury?

He placed one hand against the heavy oak door, and it glowed purple for a few short moments. From his pocket, he produced a gold key, and gestured to the lock. "Go on."

Cautiously, she took the key from his hand and put it in the lock. The door opened smoothly, without so much as a creak. Inside was a sight wholly unfamiliar. The mounds of gold in the bare wooden enclosure were vanished. In their place was a four poster bed facing a wall of glass, the starry world beyond. The bedspread was beautiful rose-colored velvet, looking luxurious and warm as it cascaded nearly down to the stone floor. The far wall was lined with heavily burdened bookshelves, many she recognized from the second floor library – all her favorites. But she never read when he was home, how could he have known? Her mind could not dwell on the thought as her eyes continued around the room. The close wall had a vanity (no mirror of course) and a washbasin. In the corner was a standing chest of polished wood with brass handles. It was not elaborate, not regal. It was very simply beautiful.

Breathlessly, she dared, "Is this…is this for me?"

"Well I certainly don't need it," he scoffed.

"Why would you do this?"

He only smiled as he walked in ahead of her. "I was hoping you'd catch on to the finer points of our deal, but once again I'm left to do the thinking for you. The agreement was that you'd stay here forever; nothing about cleaning or any other form of servitude. It was certainly implied but not a requirement. Now I'm bored of having a maid."

He walked over to the chest in the corner, opening the double doors to reveal a number of dresses hung in a row.

"From now on, you shall be expected to dress appropriately for meals and other occasions. You will provide distractions becoming of a young lady: reading, tea, music, dance, art, etc. You will also have free reign of the castle grounds, and in return are expected to maintain the gardens."

Gently, she added, "And I will keep my other duties as well. I'll not play a silly ornament unless you leave me with some use to balance."

Laughing for once genuinely, he placed a hand to his chest, "As you wish, my lady."

It was a polite court endearment, yet hearing the term fall from his lips brought another blush to her face.

He straightened and continued, "You shall have the morning off to arrange the new apartments to your liking. I will expect you to join me promptly at noon. Given the hour, I shall now take my leave."

Bowing lightly, he went to make his way past her. Belle caught the fabric of his sleeve, and he turned to her, waiting.

"Rumplestiltskin…I don't need all this. You don't owe me anything. You are back, and you are well. That is all I wished."

He only shrugged and smiled placatingly. "Just the same, you shall have it."

Allowing her grasp to grow gentle on his arm, she gave voice to her inmost concern. "I would rather wake tomorrow to find you still looking at me this way. I would prefer that payment infinitely. If these nice things are meant to settle whatever debt you think you have, I will accept none of it."

Rumplestiltskin's face grew soft and thoughtful again. "You are full of demands this evening. It is unwise to make such negotiations so late. Sleep, and let tomorrow worry about itself."

She went to shake her head, but a treacherous yawn overtook her at his words, which she stifled with the back of her hand. Rumplestiltskin took the fingers of the other hand from his shirt, bowing briefly.

"Good night, dearie."

Rose was riding a wave of victory. The animal shelter had indeed been looking for a replacement, since David Nolan was rarely able to make his shifts while he was covering the Sheriff's office and overseeing the mining operation. She was now employed, with her very own income, and she'd done it all on her own. She would start this coming Tuesday. How far she'd come from her fit on the bench!

Rose felt like celebrating, but didn't want to seem prideful over what was really only a small accomplishment. Now heading back to Gold's house, her step was light and free. As Rose stopped at a streetlight, a poster stapled to a telephone pole distracted her from her pleasant reverie.

"Town Meeting, Friday at 6pm. All formal charges against Regina Mills shall be formally filed and prosecuted upon her apprehension. Guest Speaker Leroy Smalls to provide updates on the mining operation. VOTE TO BE HELD ON PROHIBITION OF MAGIC."

Prohibition of magic? Was such a thing even possible? Was all magic truly evil? Rose pulled the poster down to look at it more closely. Mr. Gold had been the first breath of magic in her life. He argued that he needed magic, that it was powerful, that it would protect her and bring back his son. Yet she knew too well what he became when he surrendered himself to it.

Would other magic users be there? Surely they would represent themselves at such an occasion as this. Would it be possible they might have answers for both of them?

As Rose pondered over the brief words on the flyer, a black car screeched to halt by her, making her jump and back away from the curb.

Mr. Gold flew out of the driver's side door, not bothering to close it behind him as he rushed to her side as quickly as his cane would allow. At first, Rose was going to smile at him, until she caught his thunderous expression. Bewildered, she could only stand frozen as he approached her and took her roughly by the arm before turning his head left and right, glaring as though he expected the devil himself to appear at any moment.

Finally turning back to her, he hissed below his breath, "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

Wide-eyed, she tried to reassure him, "Of course, I'm perfectly fine really."

She jumped when Gold immediately snapped back, "Then where have you been?! You were to return in an hour, it's been more than three. And when I used the charm to find you you're on the far side of town from where you should be? Just what exactly was I to think?!"

Taken aback, Rose twisted her fingers and started to stammer. Before she could utter a sound however, she _remembered_. As clear as though it were only the day before. The candelabras, the waiting, the creak of the door and running down the hall in her shift.

Mr. Gold watched incredulous as a slow, unlikely smile spread across Rose's face. Despite his obvious discontent, she couldn't help herself. "You do love me!"

Still angry, he snapped back, "Of course I do!"

Unfazed, she grinned widely and threw her arms around him. He was unable to resist returning the gesture, even if his tone was still sulky. "Was this your idea of a test?"

Laughing, she drew back to look him in the face. "Not at all! This was an accident, I promise."

He studied her face, the last of his ire waning. "I don't know whether to shake you or kiss you. You are such a lot of trouble to be such a little thing."

"Someday I might even be your equal. But I wouldn't mind you know."

"Wouldn't mind what?"

"If you kissed me," Rose smiled up at him.

Mr. Gold's eyes darted to each side again, "Here?"

Rolling her eyes at his heightened sense of propriety, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him herself. She had underestimated the sense of elation. The stardust was back, glittering through her veins and setting her skin ablaze. A soft feeling fluttered in her chest, she held her breath without thinking as her arms tightened around him unconsciously. His hands were pressed against her lower back, his lips warm on hers. For a brief moment she was held tightly within the sphere Gold kept around himself, the one that usually separated him from the nearby world.

After a moment, he drew back, only his fondness beaming down. "You do not fight fair."

"Why should I, if you're going to be so accommodating? I will be your equal someday, one way or another."

A few passersby on the other side of the street were staring. Finally Rose remembered her manners and blushed. Gold gestured to the car, and she took him up on it. As they moved away from the curb, she at last remembered the flyer, now crumpled in her hand.

"I have good news and a favor to ask. Which would you like first?"

Laughing at her directness, he answered her. "Let's have the favor first. Before your powers wear off."

Rose looked at him seriously as she handed him the flyer. "I want to go to this. I want you to take me."


End file.
